Encore
by Naya Snake
Summary: Tom, Gellert, Albus, Severus, Regulus... There was no one who REALLY took care of them. They stumbled through adolescence, making idiotic mistakes. But what if there were someone to guide them, if lives, friendships and honour could still be saved? AU
1. Chapter 1

_I am back after so many years; thank you for all the favs and reviews you gave me in all this time._

_Betaed by NeverBeyondRedemption. Thanks!_

_AU, starting from 1890._

_This time the main hero/villain is Grindelwald. Once imprisoned, he has time to think about his mistakes and decides to set things right... In his own way and with the subtlety of a tank division. He is not a man doing things by halves._

_Anyhow, is it not strange that they locked Grindi up in his own castle? If anyone knows its every secret, it is him..._

_I will use some elements from the „Fantastic beasts" but the story is not movie canon conforming. The plot of the movies makes little sense to me and I cannot really follow the characters` actions, it is all so out of the blue, chaotic and self-contradictory._

_'My' Grindelwald is neither a Nazi nor a follower of any other real-world doctrine, nor a homicidal maniac, but as he meddles up with Muggle history, there will be tons of allusions to our dear real world, starting from Charlemagne through Paracelsus to Bismarck. The Desert Fox & the Blitz Daddies boys' band will enter the scene with a bang and a boom as well, you really cannot do without them in the forties... Just to put it clear, if you do not like too much merging of the two worlds._

_But do not learn history for your tests from this ff, please, all turns into AU anyhow, and at the end of each chapter I will add some explanation reg. "real" world behind the scenes for better understanding._

_The story is a loose translation of its Polish version, I added some details here, removed others there... I cannot help tweaking and improving. Yet the gist of the story remains untouched._

_Off we go, enjoy and review!_

_Chapter 1_

**Where we learn how stupid it is imprison a war-lock in his own castle and that it is even more stupid to enter his cell free-willingly**

_Empty spaces, what are we living for?__  
__Abandoned places, I guess we know the score__  
__On and on, does anybody know what we are looking for?__  
__Another hero, another mindless crime__  
__Behind the curtain, in the pantomime__  
__Hold the line, does anybody want to take it anymore?_

_The show must go on!__  
__The show must go on!_

_Inside my heart is breaking__  
__My make-up may be flaking__  
__But my smile still stays on!_

_Whatever happens, I'll leave it all to chance__  
__Another heartache, another failed romance__  
__On and on, does anybody know what we are living for?__  
__I guess I'm learning (I'm learning), I must be warmer now__  
__I'll soon be turning (turning, turning, turning), 'round the corner now__  
__Outside the dawn is breaking__  
__But inside in the dark I'm aching to be free_

_The show must go on!__  
__The show must go on!__  
__The show must go on!__  
__Ooh, inside my heart is breaking__  
__My make-up may be flaking__  
__But my smile still stays on!_

_The show must go on, yeah__  
__The show must go on__  
__I'll face it with a grin__  
__I'm never giving in__  
__On with the show!_

_Ooh, I'll top the bill, I'll overkill__  
__I have to find the will to carry on _

_On with the show, on with the show!_

_Queen, Show must go on_

_._

When the gates of Nurmengard slammed shut behind his back, he collapsed on his bed, falling asleep before he'd even hit the mattress. He was wounded and exhausted, he needed rest. Of course, he knew he could break out but not immediately.

Why should he continue, what should he continue, anyhow? All he cared for was gone. He had no family, no army, no friends. Not anymore. Germany was gone, the Europe he knew was gone.

His soul – if it was still there – was like Germany: a pile of rubble, crushed brick, glass and china shards, soot, death.

Yes, he could leave but there was no cause for him to live, fight and die. His enemies were well aware of that but still it was idiotic to send him to Nurmengard, he mused.

He was the rightful heir of the castle and he had never dishonoured the ancient walls so Nurmengard was on his side, no matter what wards and spells his opponents used to subdue him and his home. Anyone, just anyone with inkling about house magic would know that. The bunch of politicians, including Dumbledore, that were responsible for... getting rid of him were obviously, not for the first time, unaware of the basics.

Oh, by all gods of Asgard, of course Albus had no idea about stone and brick magic, it was not in the Hogwarts curriculum for certain; Gellert still remembered the shabby look of the Dumbledore's house. Two practically grown up wizard brothers could not even deal with a leaking roof properly! The British taught their children how to turn a rat into a fancy crystal glass but ignored the simplest household spells.

The victors also overlooked the fact that Nurmengard was built as a fortress, not a prison and that meant a substantial difference in its construction both regarding spells and stones. Any competent wizard or witch would tell them that a fortress, unlike a prison, is designed to keep the intruders out, not the rightful owners in, and that you could not turn it inside out without demolishing a half of the castle!

Further, they forgot that it was their own propaganda that spread the gossip of its hellish dungeons where innocent young Aurors with pretty faces were rotting, tortured and abused by the wicked, perverted, mad German. Sure, there were some prisoners there, from time to time, kept for a week or so, but no sane wizard would dishonour his family home by turning it into a permanent cage for any magical being. Nurmengard was not meant, not designed to be a prison, let alone the prison for its master.

And in their propaganda the triumphing fools forgot about Gellert`s great-grandmother Joyce, she was just a Muggleborn from another continent, dead long ago... But she would be out of her grave in no time and would crush Gellert`s skull – and that was no metaphor - if he turned into a slave keeper. And no, she would not understand the difference between a slave and a long-time prisoner. Gellert was not so stupid as to enrage Joyce the Jaguar, dead or alive.

Thus, Nurmengard was not a prison and the old castle would simply refuse to be turned into one, and anyone would understand it if they bothered to listen to its stone walls.

Therefore, Gellert could simply turn the doorknob and leave. Yet, he was wounded, magically unstable and mentally in tatters so he stayed, letting his wounds close and his maddened mind calm down. At first, he sunk into despair but slowly, as the spring returned, hope resurrected in his heart. It was not the first fall in his life, though the deepest one for sure. Yet he was Stehaufmännchen, a roly-poly toy, he could start again, he could not betray the Revolution, as long as his heart was beating.

He knew the attention of the enemies was still on him but that wouldn't last. Soon a new challenge would appear, distracting them and then... Then he would strike like lighting, a bolt from the blue, smashing their defence lines, crushing their resistance before they could even manage to lift their wands. He had always scrambled back to his feet after any blow and struck back harder than ever before.

Yet the moment he felt strong and ready, his magic started to quiver, his hands trembled so badly that he would not be able to hold a wand, his temperature soared. Azadeh, his dear, loyal lady djinn butler and batman fed him potions, murmuring old Persian healing spells and the disease waned, only to strike again in the middle of the night few weeks later.

At first he thought that wars, hardships and prisons were taking their toll and that he simply had to let the body heal and regenerate at its own pace. So, not one to waste time, he began reading, after all there was always something a wizard could learn to boost his powers. There were battle curses to learn, strategies to study, plans to perfect. He kept reading even if his dark eye refused to cooperate, but, by Wotan, an eye is the price for wisdom, is it not?

He continued, slowly, but with dogged perseverance. He read at night because he could not sleep. The wraiths, the spirits, whole divisions of spirits came to haunt him in his nightmares. He saw Germany in Schutt und Asche – reduced to a pile of rubble - and Budapest under the boot of Stalin. He saw the sons and cousins he failed to save, too busy chasing the Hallows, the vain fame, an idiotic revenge.

And sometimes he saw Albus, desperately trying to resuscitate Ariana. By Loki and his children, what potential got wasted in that witch! He still remembered the echo of her power when she lost control and her magic imploded. Such wasted innocence, both in Ariana and his little baby boy.

No. Revenge was not enough, vengeance was futile, just another mindless bloodbath. No fancy overworking, no window dressing would ever set things right. Atoning for his crimes? A joke. He had to go back to the drawing board.

He kept reading. Soon he noticed that his health issues were not due to old injuries or mental pressure. It was his magic, overused, overstrained in an inhuman way for years and then suddenly not used at all.

An average wizard could wave his wand all his life like he walked and breathed, without giving it a second thought; a powerful one had to take care of his magical core like a professional athlete had to look after his body.

If a child does not learn to use the powers properly, an Obscurus may form; if an adult is forced to live without a wand, his magic does not go berserk anymore but still will fight against the chains.

Azadeh, a being centuries old, who had met dozens of exceptional wizard and witches in her long life, helped him the best way she could. He had to learn to bridle the magic without a wand, he still did not dare ask her to fetch him one. He had to keep a low profile.

'Powers' Azadeh whispered one evening, deep in thought 'I have heard that, if you strip the powers off a wizard and link it with the magic of the pyramids, you can get the worst tragedy undone. They say in Egypt that people fear time but time fears the pyramids. But you cannot take anyone's powers away permanently, can you? They would have done it to you, Almani, if it were possible.'

After all this years she still called him simply 'German'.

'But why, by Loki's daughter?' wondered Grindelwald.

Why indeed? If you can channel your magic through a wand, lock a part of it in an artefact, if you can rip your soul apart to create a horcrux...

A horcrux. That idiot Slytherin boy wanted... Fangs of Fenris, this is it!

'Azadeh' he said 'Such things you can see clearer than me. Will he come here?'

The lady djinn did not even ask whom he meant. She took a fistful of sand out of a little sack she always carried and threw it high in the air. Magical grains flew, forming a miniscule twister and then dropped to the ground.

'He will' she nodded, examining the strange shape the grains formed 'But not soon.'

'Prisoners have to be patient' he replied.

'But you cannot deal with it alone' she continued, tossing more sand high above her head 'Muggles... The sand clearly points towards Muggles... Muggleborns? And a tree, can you see the leaf it formed?'

Grindelwald laughed loudly, noticing the asymmetry of the leaf and its toothed edges. An elm. The Elm, the tree of death and revolution.

'There were three of us, born under the same elm tree' he stated simply 'And deadly we were... And we shook the world... And we will again.'

He put his nose to the grindstone, shaping his body, magic and mind for his first and last fight, working as his ancestors erected gothic giants: day after day, year after year, decade over decade.

Lake Constance froze and thawed, the Alps turned dazzling white, then green, then yellow and red, then white again.

He kept studying, reading Paracelsus and Avicenna, Rommel and Guderian, Einstein and Hawking.

Sometimes, feeling the age gnawing on his strength – though wizards age slower than Muggles, the time takes its toll nonetheless – he began to doubt. Why should he deserve his second chance, after all? The bravest and the noblest he knew got smitten by merciless Fate, why should he be spared? But then he shook his head and continued to tweak his equations, turning shapeless power into a deadly weapon, like his Muggle compatriots hammered blocks of iron into merciless Panzers.

And he kept waiting like a marksman hiding in the thicket... No, like a Panzer, a tank, invisible, unmoving, nearly non-existent, knowing he would have just one shot so he had to stay still until the enemy was at point-blank range. No third chance.

Voldemort rose only to fall and then... Then it was time to hunt him down, when he was reduced to a wraith! But Albus failed to act, he was a splendid éminence grise, a talented backseat driver and a good teacher but, by all children of Loki, no general.

Then the monster was resurrected and still no serious offensive action was taken. Then he killed Dumbledore. At least then it was time for the wizarding community to act but, of course, nothing happened. As usual.

Voldemort took over the British MoM. NOW it was highest time to act, as the rebel seized power but was still busy subduing the state. That was the very last chance to end the war with relatively little blood spilled! Anyone with inkling about politics should know that: the moment the putschist sits firmly in the saddle, defeating him will cost blood, lots of it.

Still, nothing happened, the wizarding world let him grow. They thoughtlessly fed the basilisk like the Muggles fed the crocodile not so long ago.

Yet there was a difference this time. In Nurmengard, a vindictive, blood-thirsty, dark warlock, yes there is "war" in "warlock", kept honing his powers, the smell of his friend's fresh blood driving him into cold, calculated rage, turning him into a berserker with the power of a tank division.

Revenge, oh yes, he would bring the head of the murderer to Albus' grave.

Sure, he had his issues with Dumbledore.

Not because he lost the war. Wars were won and lost, that was their very nature and no self-respecting general got sulky because of that. It was Fate, the merciless Weird, who turned them into enemies and nobody was to blame. Moreover, Gellert had to admit that it was not only bad luck and treacherous allies that forced him to his knees; it was to a great extent his own mistakes.

But he bore a grudge for being locked up like a savage animal. Albus should have known better. He should have let him die. Or, if he believed – correctly, by the way – that death was no punishment for Grindelwald, there were many other ways to make him atone for his deeds, ways far more reasonable and honourable than a cage.

The prison was a clear mockery, a jeering laugh of the victors – let the madman rot in the place he had prepared for others! As if any halfway sane wizard would ever turn his home into a cage for humans.

Or maybe Dumbledore foolishly wanted him to brood over the past in solitude, until he understood his moral fall. He would not put it past him, but what was the use of this if he was not able to atone for his crimes, to repair what still could be repaired, to help where help was needed? He would not even be able to beg for forgiveness, his atonement would be vain, a pure torture gnawing his soul like a worm. There is no point to making a man understand an error in his ways unless he got the chance to choose a better path. Seeing one's mistakes but not being able to correct them would be a Cruciatus for the soul that torments the victim for years.

Those oh so noble people were sometimes cruel, not even realising they were hurting somebody. Anyhow humans were neither logical nor consequent in their actions and beliefs. As great-grandma Joyce always said, a man can fight for the freedom and rights of his nation and be a slave owner at the same time, noticing no contradiction.

Last but not least, the old squib treated the Potter boy like a tool. Well, soldiers are tools in the hands of their generals to some extent, but letting a wizard baby be abused by Muggles just to make him submissive... Just to make him malleable so that the young man will turn kamikaze...

No. This was unforgivable, a general that disrespects his soldiers like that is not worthy to be one and is an idiot to boot. At least, if Dumbledore did not dare extract the horcrux out of the child – it would be risky but feasible – he should have done far, far more to even his path. Gellert sent him a hint or two but was obviously ignored. Why should a noble victor listen to the advice of a fallen war criminal, after all?

American Muggles had more brains, accepting several ex-Nazi generals as allies practically the day the war was over. Both sides realised they need any help should Stalin strike. Gellert would bet his only healthy eye that if Rommel had survived the war, he would have been in NATO in no time, as if Normandy had never happened.

Wizards were such idiots sometimes...

Nonetheless, an oath was an oath and Grindelwald was set to avenge his friend regardless of the war that ripped them apart.

Furthermore, Voldemort had to be destroyed anyhow, for the greater good of everyone. Gellert had seen such people before: murderous, ruthless, power-hungry, fanatic, cowardly. They had to be annihilated at any cost, come hell or high water.

.

Finally, the enemy came, on a broomstick, heading for the castle's tower where he expected the prisoner to be.

The fortress warned Grindelwald, who watched the 'lord' fight the defensive spells. Let him get tired. Let him believe he had managed to break into the legendary prison.

With a quick move of his hand, Gellert turned his robes into worn out, frayed, cheap-looking garments. He hunched, let magic dishevel his hair and turn his elegant moustache into an unkempt beard.

'Where is the Wand?' barked the Englishman.

'Lord Voldemort' whispered Gellert, bowing his head 'I have heard you managed to kill my archenemy. What a feat, worthy of the Heir of Slytherin. If I were younger I would beg you to let me join your army, Lord Voldemort.'

Maybe he had no Elder Wand anymore, he was maimed, one-eyed and old, but neither his enemies nor time had taken his most potent weapon away. His Voice.

'Give me the Wand!' repeated Voldemort impatiently.

'If I had it here I would not be here, it is elementary' continued Gellert 'But I was naive, gullible, I have to admit that. You are cleverer, you will achieve my goal.'

And so he went on, boosting his ego, letting him feel superior, flattering and begging, licking his boots. All is fair in love and war and vengeance for a friend was both. He swallowed his pride; a tyrant would not be defeated in an honest duel, it would be treachery, treason and lies that did the trick. He forgot his dignity, let his actions dirty his soul and conscience, he would wash himself clean in the blood of his enemies soon enough. Gellert let Voldemort believe he was harmless, a boulder lying in the bushes rather than a tank primed to fire.

'Respectable Heir of Salazar, I will tell you where to look for it... For a favour.'

'How dare you demand something, you squibbish Kraut?!' Riddle raised his wand.

Why on Earth the British folk called Germans 'pickled cabbage'?

'Destroy all he loved, all lived for!' hissed Grindelwald through clenched teeth. 'Everything. Everyone.'

Riddle eyed him suspiciously.

'But... you were friends, I heard'.

'Would you have enemies if you had such friends?' spat Gellert furiously 'That squib who did not understand that it is the power that counts, nothing more. That traitor who shot me in the back. Do you really believe we duelled? Have you ever seen him in a battlefield, fighting wizard to wizard? Where are his scars? I have dozens.'

The serpentine face of Voldemort twisted into something vaguely resembling a smile.

'I promise.'

Gellert approached him slowly, cautiously.

'The wand is hidden, they could never track it' he started 'Anyhow, those Muggle lovers, those squibs would never be able to use its potential but you... Oh, if only I could be young again and could witness what you achieve with it in your hands... Weird is so cruel...'

'Where is it, then?' demanded Riddle with a softer tone.

'You have to go to Ulm, it is a small city not far away from here' said Gellert in a conspirational tone, as if sharing a secret with a school friend. Voldemort, intrigued, stepped closer.

'You must find three boys there. The first one...' Gellert, pretending that his voice failed him because of his long years of silence, kept whispering with a hoarse, barely audible tone. Voldemort stepped even closer to understand him better and that was exactly what Grindelwald wanted.

The point-blank range.

FEUER FREI!

'The first boy... His name is... GEER HARDT!' he roared, wringing Voldemort's wand out of his hand. He yelled the spell when the yew wand was still spinning, against all the rules of spell-casting safety. Yet he was an old warlock who cast spells on horseback, underwater, with a muggle weapon in the other hand... And still he had eight fingers.

The spell cracked and Riddle slammed against the wall, magic pinning him to it like a beetle in a Muggle insect cabinet. The wand flew high in the air, spinning, and Gellert nonchalantly caught it in mid-air.

'Geer hardt, that is 'a sharp spear'' he explained smoothly 'Gellert is the Hungarian version of the name. Lovely, is it not?' he laughed mirthlessly. 'You have murdered a friend of mine, Schätzchen. I will drink your blood tonight like in the good old times.'

.

_So, a few words regarding language and history._

'_Panzer' is a tank here (but may also mean 'armour' or even 'carapace')._

'_Feuer frei' means 'shoot at will' or literally "fire freely"._

_`Schätzchen` means 'darling'._

_The copiously fed crocodile was Hitler, of course. Thank you, Prime Minister Churchill for this lovely metaphor._

_And yes, there were some Germans who started their military career when their country was still monarchy, through Weimar republic, Nazi time and, nothing daunted, West Germany and NATO. Let me name just general Hans Speidel as an example. He must have had an impressive collection of his own uniforms._

_His superior, field marshal Erwin Rommel / the Desert Fox did not make it (he was forced to suicide by Hitler for alluded treason and coup attempt, btw). _

_Here Gellert mentions his last and biggest battle – Rommel was the military leader on the other side of Invasion of Normandy, to which Gellert refers simply as 'Normandy'... _

_A strange man he was, I must say, not what you usually imaging thinking of a Nazi general. An excellent writer ('Infantry attacks' about WW1 is definitely worth reading, in particular if you can read the original version)... And, believe it or not, he was accused of using magic in the battlefield (in the forties of XX century, not medieval times!) And it gave me some ideas..._

10


	2. Chapter 2

_**Chapter Two**_

_**In which a young Auror trainee and an old war criminal pass an exam in physics**_

Terrified, Riddle was fighting against his constraints, furiously hissing incantations.

'Widerstand is zwecklos,' laughed Gellert 'That is, resistance is pointless. Horcruxes disturb the flow of the power inside the body, no wandless magic will work for you.' he sneered, seeing Riddle's surprise. 'Or course I know you have created them, I may be missing an eye but I am not blind yet, the horcruxes deform not only the soul but the body as well, you can easily spot a horcrux-maker if you know what to look for. How many, Tommy, have you created? Seven?'

It was just a guess but Riddle's shocked expression spoke volumes.

'It would be a interesting to slice you open and see what all that necromancy has done with your internal organs' continued Gellert with an enthusiastic tone 'I wonder whether it has THE side effect everyone gossips about...'

Riddle was both horrified and livid.

'What is a point of immortality in such a body, I wonder' smiled Gellert 'But back to business... Ulm. A lovely town in Swabia. Ulm, Ulmen, ulmus in Latin. It means an "'elm"', the tree of death and revolution, you see. Three boys were born there, all deadly. I am the first one. The second, a Muggle, was called Heriwini, Erwin in contemporary German. 'Heer' means an 'army', you must know that, your German is pretty good I must admit, though your accent is an insult to my ears... 'Winni' is an old word for a friend. 'Friend of the army`, what a lovely name, don`'t you think? And how well chosen, there must have been a Seer at his birth. No, I don`t mean Erwin the professor with his dead-yet-alive cat` he laughed `I mean the Erwin who shredded thousands of Tommys to pieces. I will shred just one.`

Riddle howled in rage, pulling at his chains, but they held.

Gellert would have loved to tease Riddle for hours but a good Swabian warrior did not torture prisoners and did not torment animals for fun and this 'lord' was something in between. Anyhow, Albus would not like a bloody show to honour him and, last but not least, Gellert should be careful with his magic, he needed it for the third boy from Ulm; it would be reckless to waste it for fleeting pleasure.

He conjured a green fire snake that slowly coiled around Riddle. The prisoner jerked in fear but the flames were not meant to inflict pain; the suffering of an already defeated enemy wins no battle and only an idiot would lose his first and last war for a moment of sadistic satisfaction.

The snake broke into green spheres, hovering in the air. Gellert smiled, pleased with the result. He closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, he could nearly smell the aroma of trampled grass, air electrified with curses, the stench of human and animal sweat... No, the reek of burning fuel, hot metal and scorched flesh.

'FEUER FREI!' he roaded. The spheres whizzed and bolted through the windows.

Riddle turned even paler.

'They... are looking...'

'They know already where to go.'

The prisoner was trembling uncontrollably.

Albus was right, the man had no heart and no guts. Gellert had learnt quite a lot about Riddle, Dumbledore had sent him letters sometimes, discussing his problems with the 'lord', knowing well that Grindelwald hated deeply anything that even remotely resembled Hitler... or rather Himmler and was thus ready to share his ideas regarding the ways Riddle could be subdued. Not that it brought much, Albus was dead and Riddle was rampaging through wizarding Britain. But he would not do that anymore.

'Tommy, by all brats of Loki, are you a dark lord or not?' snapped Grindelwald impatiently 'If you usurp the right to kill, accept that others usurp it as well. You are Angsthase, coward, like all sadists. You could follow the example of your compatriots...'

`We win wars, unlike you, Krauts`.

'And how many have you won, oh lord?' jeered Grindelwald. He could have cursed Riddle brutally for those words but a man sentenced to death had the right to say whatever he wanted, it was his last freedom. 'When our Muggles went to war, the ocean turned red, I have seen in with my very eyes. When the Heir of Slytherin went to kill a baby, a single Muggleborn was enough to stop him and she had no wand in her hand, I have heard. A Muggleborn, Tommy, she had no ancient artefacts to protect her son, she kept no Roman demons in the basement. She just refused to get out of your way and that sufficed. You see, Tommy, Muggle hearts are filled with such Inbrunst... fiery zeal. They fight like gods of war. I can hardly imagine a wizard carrying fifty pounds of ammunition on his back all night long... They keep fighting in Kugelhagel, when the sky rains fire and steel. With their primitive medicine, how can you even think of going to war? They are so defenceless against the machines they themselves created and yet they face them as if life were of no value. If they had put all that energy into something useful, they would be our equals by now. Oh, Tommy, don't look so offended. If we had joined forces for the greater good of us all, instead of avadaing one another down, we would be gods by now.'

.

Riddle began to quiver, the magical fire having reached his horcruxes and slowly consuming them. His personality started to crumble, showing deeper and deeper layers.

Grindelwald knew what he would see. Albus had discussed 'Voldemort' in his letters, expressing the opinion that Riddle was a psychopath, incapable of most feelings.

That could be but Gellert rather believed that Riddle, and his mother, were merely consequences of the social order they lived in.

Riddle, a low class kid, watching elegant automobiles with envy and knowing he can at best clean them one day. A ragged orphan, staring though shop windows to toys and sweets he could never afford.

Riddle with no father, a bastard, whose very existence was a shame, whose bloodline – or rather the lack of it – forced him to stay at the bottom of the social ladder for ever.

Was it so strange that he hated the world that condemned him to poverty, that humiliated him for what he had no influence on? If he were weak, he would use laudanum and gin to stone himself. But he was strong, he had magic, he wanted power and the world taught him that power is just the abuse of power and whims of a tyrant. The chauvinistic, fascistic, rigidly hierarchic and brutal Muggle world... The magical world was not much better, to be honest. An orphan with no name, no bloodline, no money and no idea about wizarding traditions could at best end up in a MoM office with no windows.

But Riddle was tough and cunning, and vindictive. He hated Muggles for their disdain. He hated Muggleborns because they reminded him of what he once was. And he wiped his boots with Purebloods because they had wanted to do exactly that to him.

And all that Muggle upbringing! Gellert had Muggleborn followers who told him how difficult it was to discover magic blindly, without being aware what it could be, what Muggles considered an aberration, a sin, a mental problem you could cure with a whip or a sedative. How horrible it was to be a mad freak.

And the wizarding world saw that and did nothing!

To add insult to injury, that Gaunt girl was really a joke of a mother. She preferred to die out of love for a man who disdained her than to take care of her son. By all wolves of Ragnarök, she was not a penniless squib with no name and no bloodline; many a rich wizard – Grindelwald as well - would finance her and her son if she agreed to marry him so that his bloodline would merge with the one of the great Salazar.

Riddle was no Voldemort anymore, this part of him had already burnt in the magical fire. He was just a toddler with sad eyes, seeing watching another set of potential parents choose another, normal child. This Riddle disappeared as well after a while, uncovering a baby that would not cry even if he was hungry and felt abandoned. Nobody would come and hug him anyhow, the employees of the orphanage would not take time for the kids;, they were always busy, always bustling. There were always too many unwanted children, there was never enough bread and coal.

And nobody cared. Albus came too late and tried to intimidate the boy. Dumbledore could encourage people to join him but only if they shared his views. He was either unable or unwilling to persuade the others. He could have won Merope, Tom and a half the British gentry – he had spent more time with the British wizarding teens than their own families! What a possibility to influence their mindset… Wasted.

Grindelwald stepped closer to Riddle, looking straight into the sad eyes of the baby.

'Thomas' he whispered 'That will not happen again, I swear. Thanks to the third boy from Ulm, it will never ever happen again. The prophecy about the boy born on the last day of July can be interpreted differently, less literarily. It was… It will be the last day of July. And then we will do the twentieth of July… We will blow that rotten world up, again and again, till we set it right. And if it does not help, we will nuke it, Thomas.'

Magic quivered, as the spheres returned, carrying the power they had ripped from the horcruxes. Gellert touched them one by one with the tip of the yew wand, sucking the magic in.

'Horcruxes disrupt the magical core' he whispered 'So that one can remove the magic from the body, when the maker is dying'.

The eyes of the Englishman went glassy. Grindelwald bowed his head and clicked with his heels the Muggle way, not to show his respect to Voldemort but to death, to little Tom…And what he could – still can – become.

Sure, he would love to chop his head off now and bring it to the grave of Albus. Dissecting the body would also be fascinating. Yet there was no time to lose and no unnecessary risk was to be taken.

As to blood-drinking… That would be foolish, who knew what elixirs Riddle had ingested to stay alive.

No, it was not the day for war pleasures; it was the day of duty.

'Azadeh' said Grindelwald 'It's time, let's go'.

'You have to do it alone' she replied 'But you must change your clothes, if you want to pretend to be a Muggle.'

'I have no idea about their contemporary fashion.'

'This is my job, Almani. Take a look.'

He had no idea that the library of Nurmengard could conjure Muggle fashion catalogues.

'Hugo Boss?' he raised his eyebrows 'Disguising as an officer is tricky unless you know in depth how their army...'

'Nowadays he dresses civilians' she explained curtly 'No, this colour does not suit you… Do you remember how to make a tie knot or should I do it for you?'

He managed a nice Windsor knot in just three tries which was not a bad result after so many decades.

'But, Almani, do not roam around as a Wehrmacht colonel when those Americans do the Barbarossa thing again. You got shot…'

'Oh, it was just a scratch' he smiled 'And it was a great place to hide, no Auror dared even look at Caen in those days.'

'But they could have killed you!'

'And what do you suggest? That next time I dress up as a cancan dancer? I could do the splits when I was young but…'

'But a colonel is…'

'A too low rank for me? Should I tell them next time I am the Desert Fox in person? Do you think they would then lower their guns and politely ask for an autograph?'

'Well, I assume they would try to capture him alive, Almani...'

Gellert rolled his eyes though Azadeh had a point. The higher your rank, the higher your chance of survival, unless you enrage your own superior...

'I will prepare something to eat for you. You should not Apparate with all that magic that is not really yours and the road is long. And, Almani, please, avoid Frankfurt, the airport there is giant and their aeroplanes are mighty. And leave the Auror Bureau alone…'

'And whom should I attack? The great-grandchildren of my enemies? I have not fallen that low yet.'

'And take a scarf. And do not fly too high, the air traffic nowadays…'

'Azadeh! I am over a hundred years old, not a toddler! I can even pilot a Muggle plane.'

It was a Doppledecker, a beplane,and he was no Red Baron, but he was a quite skilled indeed.

'The money is already in the car…'

'Money?'

'Muggle money. Your old dollars and Reichsmarks are not valid anymore, I assume. And please, do not talk to strangers, you never know whether the Aurors…'

'Azadeh…'

'And please don't…'

'Azadeh!'

'Let's go' she sighed 'You have to check the automobile, I have no idea about those Muggle machines'.

He smiled. The automobile, his lush, splendid cabriolet BMW 337. He sighed with nostalgia, thinking of the times when he had not bothered to open the door but simply jumped inside. The BMW smelled of leather, polish and freedom.

'And your violin' Azadeh reminded him 'But you should not draw anyone`s attention to you.'

'I will play only if they poke their wands up my nose' he promised.

He caressed the cold steel of the 'violin', smiling. Hitlergeige, the Hitler`s violin, on which he could play the infernal csárdás. The Muggle machine gun was bulky, heavy and clumsy compared to a wand but had a longer range than most spells and spat out a hundred bullets before the opponent could cast a single spell.

Grindelwald opened the door of his BMW and hesitated for a moment.

'Azadeh' he whispered 'If I fail, take the gold.'

'You will not fail, Almani.'

'But then… We may never meet… again. We may even become enemies.'

'Never.' she said firmly.

'I am not going to punch History in the face, I will show it what Blitzkrieg means' he hissed through clenched teeth 'Everything may… will change. But… You have always been my Azadeh, my Freedom. Even in 1945.'

.

The automobile slowly rose into the air; Grindelwald flew over the Lake Constance and followed the Rhine.

Everyday spells could be cast anywhere but the most potent rituals required more than wand-waving, they had to be performed where the lines of the magic field crossed. The pyramids were an obvious choice and so was Stonehenge but Grindelwald decided to restart where it all had begun.

The new Germany surprised him. The ruins and smoke were gone, the cities were bigger and rose higher than ever before. Grindelwald shook his head in disbelief, seeing highways full of colourful cars, big mansions, shining planes. Though he had read the Muggle press regularly, he had not imagined such an improvement. Germany was doing well, better. For a moment he thought to dump his plans down the Rhine and just fly, fly and enjoy the rest of his life, forgetting all the politics. After all, it all had ended well. It was the brave new world, it did not need Grindelwald anymore, it was splendid.

No. He still had some debts to pay.

He flew over Basel, then Strasbourg, then Karlsruhe. The Rhine meandered along steep slopes covered with wine farms – this had not changed – flowing past little cities and castle ruins. At Bingen Gellert rested for a while. He had to calm down his pounding heart, relax his tensed muscles. Ruhig Blut, easy does it.

Yet he feared the third boy from Ulm, he quivered thinking of the physics exam he had to pass. And Physics, unlike generals and kings, could not be fooled and knew no mercy.

He passed Koblenz, where the Rhine and Mosel merged; the last time he had seen it, the city was a sea of flames. Now huge bridges spanned the rivers, Muggle cars buzzed along streets and the horrors of the past seemed forgotten for ever.

He passed Bonn. The lights, car lights, street lights, city lights were irritating him. The nights he remembered could shine only with city fires and explosions. How could Muggles live in that flood of light? Could they still see the stars?

Finally, he saw his destination, der Dom zu Kölle, the black cathedral of Cologne, he braked so hard that he nearly hit the steering wheel with his nose – the church was shining like a giant Avada Kedavra. Only after a while he realised it was just green illumination, and laughed loudly, relived.

Five minutes later an elegant Muggle gentleman strode over the Hohenzollern bridge, heading towards the church. The violin, transfigured into a pen, was stuck in his breast pocket, just in case.

The square at the foot of the cathedral was bustling with tourists, commuters, protesters and performers.

Gellert passed by a group of Muggles protesting against fur industry. He was not in the mood to study the details but twisted his face in disgust catching the glimpse of the photos they showed. He had killed and skinned quite a few animals in his life, both with the wand and with the knife and he knew you did not have to inflict so much pain. And, by Hela and her kingdom, one did not have to make them smell the blood and hear the screams of other ones. He understood that one had to kill to live but such a cruelty, unnecessary cruelty… The world was not that beautiful, after all.

Another group protested against a dictator Gellert had never heard about, yet another one against a war… somewhere, he did not even stop to read their banners. Did it matter, anyhow? Prisons and chains, death and flames, they were still there, ravaging the planet. The world clearly still needed some improvements.

Next, he had to pass by a long, long queue, where people were waiting patiently though it was cold and windy.

Gellert became curious.

'What are you waiting for?' he asked an elderly Muggle in a cheap, worn-out jacket. The man eyed him wearily, noticing his expensive coat.

'This is not a place for such… dandy gentleman like you, sir' he sneered.

A young girl with a can for donations approached him and explained it was a foodbank for the poor. Grindelwald squeezed a yellow banknote into the can, earning enthusiastic thanks. Two hundred euro must have been quite a lot of money, he mused.

Suddenly, all that he had seen during the flight came back to his mind. All those cars, all those houses, all those machines, highways, ships, planes. Who possessed all riches, unimaginable for the man who had seen Germany in 1945 for the last time if people were still so poor that they patiently waited in the icy wind for a meal?

The world was not splendid at all. If he had been wiser, if he had not been an arrogant fool, it would have never happened.

'It will never happen again' he said with the voice that made people march into their deaths, singing loud, trusting him blindly, even if he had lost trust in himself long before.

He hesitated. Could he really undo the tragedy that had happened? Only fools would believe History can be bridled and tamed.

Controlling Muggles in a discreet way was out of question, he had no delusions regarding magical reign from the shadows anymore. The Nazi Germany alone had up to sixteen field marshals; he could not even imagine subduing that belligerent wolves-of-Ragnarök pack without enormous effort.

And that was just the marshals, what about all the other figures roaming the chessboard of life? A supposedly meaningless pawn can be promoted to a queen and strike from the shadows and no wizard, even a Seer, could predict every move of the game called History.

Moreover, he still had a Muggle problem to solve, here and now. The square at the feet of the cathedral was crowded, the neighbouring central train station unceasingly belched further people out and Grindelwald did not want to read an open air lecture in practical cosmology to thousands of bystanders. Sure, he was a hardened criminal but there were limits he still did not want to cross. If he failed, the church could explode which would mean…

`For the greater good, Gellert` she sighed, taking a toy tank out of the coat pocket.

The greater good had turned into lesser evil long ago but he could still avoid making the same mistakes. Gently, he put the toy on the cobblestones.

`Gespensterdivision` he whispered. The tank pulled away, joyfully buzzing and swinging it turret. Grindelwald smiled and headed for the stairs leading to the top of one of the cathedral towers.

He started to climb, holding the wand in one hand and his Luger gun in the other. He had to walk on foot, without magic. He had been exercising diligently, climbing the stairs of Nurmengard but still it felt like an eternity to reach the top of the tower. He kept his wand ready to curse, because the enemy could already be waiting for him, hiding just a few steps above on the narrow, winding staircase.

He might have been fooling the Aurors for decades in Nurmengard regarding his activities, but once he had escaped there was nobody else to hold the subtle illusions, so his captors were almost certainly aware of his absence already.. If the Aurors still had brains, they would definitely think about searching for him in Cologne.

Panicked screams penetrated the stone walls; the Muggles must have noticed his tank. He peered out of the window and snorted. The tank was enormous now, much bigger than any true tank could ever be. It stood in the middle of the square, ominously rotating its overgrown turret, then slowly crawled forward, its engine roaring and howling.

He noticed a flash of a charm. Splendid. The Aurors would be busy with the tank, the harmless decoy, and it would take them some time to stop it.

Time. There was not time to lose, he sped up. Ninety eight, ninety nine… This staircase was endless.

Taking the last turn he sensed a subtle magic wave, marking the presence of wizards and the curse run down his fingers instinctively.

'Fenriswolf!' he barked; a cloud of black smoke billowed out of the yew wand, twirled and stretched, taking the shape of a giant dog which bounded at his enemies.

It was a group of four teens, Auror trainees, judging from their cloaks. Strictly speaking they were not enemies; they were taken completely by surprise, obviously unaware of his little excursion from Nurmengard.

He smiled. This had not changed – magical youth still climbed the tower to play with half-legal spells, taking advantage of the specific magic field on the top. He was more amused than annoyed; after all, he had done it as well…

Still, he had to get rid of them but the wolf was certainly enough to make them run. They had no chance against the animal but they had the brains to realise it quickly and escape on the broomsticks they must have used to reach the top of the tower.

Gellert observed them quietly from the shadows, curious to see whether the Auror training was still on the level it had been in his youth.

Well, the kids were reasonably brave and clever; he would let them escape but…

Three of them had already flown away, the last one, in the blue cloak (Which would have marked him as a second year trainee when Gellert was young, ) kept the dog at bay, letting his friends escape.

Gellert had a clear shot, but lowered his wand. If he failed, it would be a waste to kill such a fighter. If he succeeded there was no point to murdering him anyhow. The young man cast a fire ball at the dog, jumped high, grabbing a stone pinnacle, pulled himself up, his fingers were about to close on his broomstick, that must have been that new model of the Firebo…

CRACK!

For a moment, Gellert could not believe what he had seen. The trainee in the grey cloak, already on his broomstick, had broken the Firebolt. The kid in blue, dazzled with the flash of the spell, loosened his grip, hit the floor and rolled right under Grindelwald`s feet.

The old warlock reacted immediately, or rather his magic flew by itself from his heart to the core of the yew wand, his lips shouting the Cruciatus curse out before he had realised what he was doing. The bolt of light hit the grey-cloaked trainee and he fell with an almost inaudible scream.

't equals the square root of two times s divided by g' he said calmly, looking at the young man, who, confused by the fall, clearly in pain, slowly kneeled up, supporting his weight with his left hand. It seemed he had broken his right arm. 'Now we will see how much you are worth, injured, betrayed, defenceless and alone.'

The trainee looked around trying to find the wand he had dropped when hitting the floor. Grindelwald was faster and stepped on it, not with the intention to break it, but slowly, with ostentation, demonstrating his power. Then he put up a few wards and ignited some magical lights.

For a moment, they eyed one another, the trainee in sheer shock, Grindelwald with a shrewd, cold glance of a general.

Gellert raised his wand slowly, theatrically, twisting his lips into a cruel smile. The young man was breathing nervously, shallowly, his healthy fist was clenched, but he kept silent.

't equals the square root of two times s divided by g' repeated Gellert calmly 'A simple equation to calculate the time of the fall. Assuming that Arschloch that had broken your broom got hit when he was hovering a hundred and fifty meters above the ground, as this is the height of the tower… That would be the square root of thirty… How much is it, my dear Auror trainee?'

The young man gaped at him in sheer disbelief.

'I have asked you a question' barked Gellert 'When I was young Aurors studied basic arithmancy and numerology. And old Grindelwald still can enforce… a lively dialogue, if he wishes so.'

His prisoner jerked.

`A bit more than five seconds… Herr Grindelwald. `

Gellert raised his eyebrows as the answer was correct and the trainee had not forgotten to specify the correct physical unit. Grindelwald knew how hard it was to think coherently under the boots of an enemy so he had not expected the ambushed and shocked teen to cope.

`So he stood no chance to survive` he said joyfully `Serves him right, in my humble opinion… And… By the way, what is your name?`

`Meçut.` His prisoner stared at him defiantly, as if expecting a blow. This surprised Grindelwald; for him there was nothing unusual in the name that could incite his wrath. It was a Turkish name, he supposed, though the young man looked rather like a Mulatto. Why should he cast a curse?

`Why did he do that?` he asked.

The cadet lowered his gaze and did not reply.

`A woman? No? Oh, don`t be shy, was the reason for your… argument, a man? Well, I have seen wilder affairs than that in the twenties in Berlin.`

The trainee was still silent.

`I am no Beria and Nurmengard has never come close to Lubyanka but still I am no pink Pygmy Puff.` continued Gellert. The young man turned even paler, he must have been a Muggleborn, a Pureblood would not understand what he was talking about ` You saved his life and he served you to me on a silver platter. Why?`

The prisoner sighed.

`You can see the reason, sir. You have been around not only in the twenties but also in the forties, right?`

`Oh, you mean you are not 'purely' white?' he sneered. `Neither am I, though hardly anyone believes it, looking at me. And I assume you are a Muggleborn to boot.`

The young man nodded. He was obviously too confused to lie and why should he try to conceal obvious facts, anyhow?

The new world was as mean, filthy and worthless as the old one, only Ragnarök could set things right. Mean, filthy, low! Grindelwald was not innocent but to stab someone in the back like that… To betray the man who risked his own life to protect you… To still consider him worthless, after what he had done… The world was ready to burn.

`Where are you from, Meçut?`

`Düsseldorf.`

`That was not what I meant.`

`My grandma was from Anatolia, my grandad from Texas. He was an American soldier, she worked in a factory in Cologne… He stayed here for her.`

`And he was black, I assume. No wonder he preferred to stay here` snorted Grindelwald. `And the other grandparents?`

` Russdeutschen, Herr Grindelwald.`

That explained his reaction to Lubyanka.

Grindelwald knew that time was running away but the trainee was rather interesting. There was still time for one more little… test.

` Meçut, will you duel me if I give you your wand back?`

`I will.` The answer came quickly, which Grindelwald liked. He enjoyed hunting big game, not rabbits.

`But I give you a fair warning; if you lose I will wipe my boots with you the hard Prussian way. I wonder whether you will beg mercy then. Or maybe… You will start crying right now?`

The prisoner was shaking. He closed his eyes for a moment, took a deep breath and looked straight into Gellert`s eyes.

`I will lose; this is obvious` he whispered hoarsely `I am no match for you, Herr Grindelwald. And I know you can force me… to scream… to beg. But. Not. Yet.`

Gellert shook his head.

`I have posed this question to quite a few people` he stated `Out of pure scientific curiosity. But the answer you have given me was the wisest and the most sincere of them all. Usually I get a variety of insults regarding my… alluded personal preferences. Meçut, I am bored to death, maybe you will come up with some modern, creative invectives? Please? I am always keen to learn` he joked.

`Will you set me free if I do?`

Grindelwald roared with laughter. This is how a German warrior should be. This world still deserved a chance.

`Meçut, either you will be sentenced to a Kiss, or you will become a Minister` he smiled 'If I had a granddaughter, I would insist you marry her.'

With a few swift movements of the wand he repaired the shattered broomstick and the broken arm of his prisoner and then kicked Meçut's wand towards its owner.

`Verschwinde` he said `Get out of here and may the Norns spin the thread of fame and fortune for you.`

The young man stared at him, perplexed. Then, slowly, cautiously, he picked up his wand and, still eyeing Gellert suspiciously, grabbed his broomstick.

'Sir, you could…'

'Sure I can' hissed Grindelwald 'Keep our little… encounter in mind and think of it the moment you press someone with your boot against the floor. Get out of here, hold your mouth shut and do not try to play any tricks. Einmal ist keinmal, aber zweimal is einmal zu viel. I give the second chance but not the third, remember.'

Meçut bowed elegantly, jumped on the broom and left.

Grindelwald, satisfied, smiled. They would meet again, in a different time, a different place but this encounter would be repeated, over and over again.

But now it was time to pass his own exam. Carefully, as the examiner was Physics itself.

He treated physics with deep wonder and awe. Magic could be bent by pure willpower, sacrifice, love and passion. Physics calculated the Universe regardless of right and wrong, virtue and crime, love and hate. The Muggle world was cold, terrifying, merciless. And so he should act, blending out his hubris, his love, his remorse, his anger, his despair.

Nature cannot be fooled, it is only numbers that count.

He knew the equations by heart, all those tensors, imaginary numbers, elliptic functions… If he succeeded, all wrong could be undone, if he failed, may Einstein und Minkowski have mercy upon him._  
_

The yew wand quivered in his hand, magic twirled and roared inside him, ready to explode. He pointed the wand at the window, covered his eyes with his hand and…

'Raumzeit!'

.

_So, some history and language again._

_The physicists:_

_The third boy is of course Einstein, born in Ulm. _

_Erwin with his undead cat is Schrödinger, ask Google if you want to know more. _

_And Mr Minkowski also messed up with space and time, but he never got as famous as Einstein._

_._

_The war:_

_The second boy of Ulm, with poor dead Tommys... Rommel again._

_The 20__th__ of July (1944) – the date of the most famous attempt to send Hitler to hell. Yet the man was amazingly bomb-proof, he survived like a dozen of attacks._

_Blitzkrieg. The English language uses the short form `blitz` but it would make no sense to Grindelwald. `Blitz` alone means `flash` or `lightning`. `Krieg` is `war`. So, altogether it was the `flash war` as it was based on speed and surprise._

_`Gespensterdivision` or the `Spirit Division` (though `Wraith Division` would be more exact IMHO), the 7__th__ Tank Division really existed… and was accused of using magic (Rommel again), due to its exceptional speed. As far as I know it still keeps the record of the distance tanks covered in one day under war conditions, so that the tanks popped up where no one expected them – like ghosts. _

_`Barbarossa` plan was also real but involved no Americans in France, ask Uncle Google for more._

_Lubyanka was the infamous Soviet prison in Moscow and Beria was one of its most infamous interrogators. Not someone to read about in detail if you have kids._

_Last but not least, Hitlergeige, 'Hitler's violin' was a machine gun. _

_._

_And all the rest:_

'_Ulmen' means really an 'elm tree', and the city of Ulm exists._

'_Raumzeit` is `spacetime` as Einstein named it._

_`Tommy` was a 'Brit'. _

_The goddess Hela /Heli / Hell ruled the kingdom of the dead. And she was a daughter of Loki, not a sister of Thor, no matter what Marvel claims _

_`Azadeh` is a Persian female name and indeed means `freedom`._

_`Russdeutschen` - `Russian Germans` are people of German origin who lived in the ex-USSR and moved back to Germany. Lots of people did that after the USSR dismantling._

_Both they and the Turks are huge minorities in Germany and, to say it openly, not the most respected ones. _

_Thus Meçut would be used to the fact he is considered an unwelcome stranger, even if he was born in Germany and, if asked where he is from, he answers simply 'Düsseldorf'._

_Meçut's origin makes him a perfect target for all racial prejudice existing in Germany. Grindelwald does not really FEEL that, though he may guess why it is so. Sure, he can follow why a descendant of an American soldier, black to boot, is not considered a real German, though the resentment against occupation forces was not that strong anymore in the time he met Meçut._

_Yet the Turkish minority appeared in Germany after the WW2, when Grindelwald was not out there anymore, so that the clichés against Turks are not familiar to him and same applies to Russdeutschen. Thus Gellert does not realize immediately why Meçut thinks he will be cursed just for his name._


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

**In which Gellert steals a rooster and a wand for the greater good**

**.**

Raumzeit!

Magic, artificially compressed in the yew wand erupted, ripping the wood apart; burning splinters shooting high into the air; the tower seemed to twist, wobble and stretch as if made of rubber. Only when the vibrations had ceased, Gellert dared open his eyes.

A black shape hovered in front of him, dominating his vision. Physics said it would be a sphere, Magic claimed it should be a cube, a magical die or rather its four-dimensional version, the hypercube, the tesseract. And here it was, right in front of his nose, the gate to the better world where he and Albus could be friends forever and where a German officer walked proud.

'Play dice with the Universe, Gellert' he murmured, stretching his hand to touch the hypercube. He lost his balance and tumbled headfirst into a void...

With a thump, he landed on a bed. Groaning, he grabbed his spinning head, waiting for his senses to adapt to the new reality.

'Is young master fine?' he heard a worried voice 'Let me light up the candles.'

'Don't worry, Kuhschelle' he spoke up, having recognised the voice of the she-elf. His own voice sounded… strange, squeaky, it was no longer the mellow baritone he was so proud of.

He sat up clumsily. Where could he be? Oh. He noticed his once-favourite calendar with dragon illustrations. The tiny red dragon always wrapped itself around the correct date; Gellert had stayed up regularly to see it move from one number to the next at midnight.

.

It was 31st of July, 1890.

.

By all gods of all nations, he had made it!

But there was no time to lose. Where was he? What, how could he…

Ruhig Blut, easy does it. He must have landed in that tiny castle of his great-grandmother Elisabeth in Transylvania. Fans of Fenris, he had to get to Scotland from there! But how? The Floo network had not yet connected the UK with the Continent in 1890, he remembered well it being inaugurated in the thirties of the next century.

To Apparate or to Portkey was also out of question, he would not be able to break through all the wards in time, working alone, in secret and without the Elder Wand. The time difference would give him extra two hours, but still he was running out of time.

He jumped to his feet and stumbled. What he had just achieved was not a simple time leap; he had turned not just the 'outside' time but also his `internal` clock back, becoming nine again. He still remembered the `previous` Grindelwald but knew that the memories of THAT life would fade soon, becoming just shadows, dreams, whispers of intuition. And yet they would not disappear without a trace, there would… should be enough of them left to help him save the world. And to save the world, he needed Albus. And to win his friendship, this time forever, he had to save Ariana.

The poor girl had been… would be attacked when her mother was… will be cooking lunch, thus about eleven, maybe at noon which meant the time was worse than scarce.

Schnell, schnell… He still remembered how to ready for battlein a split second… but he had no wand and even if he did the wards and barriers blocking Apparation to Britain were like the Maginot line...

But the Grindelwalds were Swabians (though their bloodline included other German peoples) and no German warrior was more adamantine and unyielding that a Swabian warlock… No Maginot would ever stop him.

Grindelwald smiled wickedly. The problem of Monsieur Maginot had already been solved in his memory, if not yet the others in this new timeline. Why try to break an iron door if the window is left open?

He left his bedroom, ran downstairs, turned left and arrived at the portrait of his great-great-great-grandmother, Bellicosa, who was fortunately absent. Hidden amond the swirls of the rich rococo adornment of the frame (which did not fit at all the witch who preferred simple, nearly Spartan lifestyle) Bellicosa's combat wand was stuck. The Uroma - great-grandma - Elisabeth had repeated many times that the wand should not be touched unless more than one`s life was at stake. She herself used it only when leading her troops into particularly significant battles or when casting complex spells.

Well, Gellert wanted to save the whole world and the wand must have sensed his intentions, falling straight into his hands. Wow. He knew wands had a sort of character and will but that was extraordinary.

Having found the weapon, he still needed a good broom… No, his great-grandmother Elisabeth had something far better. Given the date, it was highly likely that she was away on her annual trip to celebrate the birthday of her cousin Adalbert; thus she should have left her war-steed in the castle as there was obviously no need to take him to a family meeting. Grindelwald smiled triumphantly.

Five minutes later Gellert, equipped with a woollen coat and a pair of leather gloves, arrived at the creek surrounding the meadow where the animals rested.

`Boruta!` he called `Boruta!`

A black mound resting between the bushes jerked and cackled. The giant rooster that had been sleeping with its head hidden beneath his wing slowly rose to his feet, shook his shining feathers, flapped his wings and looked at Gellert suspiciously.

Oh, by Loki and his lovely little girl, Grindelwald had forgotten how big the bird was. Well, he remembered the old Boruta with matted feathers, stooped under the burden of years and wounds and those were the memories of a man six feet two inches tall. Now, however, the rooster was in his prime, and Gellert had to look up to meet his gaze.

Boruta cackled again, turning his head to look at Gellert once with the left, once with the right eye like roosters usually do when they spot an interesting object… which often meant a meal. His beak was much bigger and much more axe-like than Gellert could recall.

The bird cackled again, sounding like a general issuing an order and promptly sat so that Grindelwald could climb onto his back. It was not easy for a nine-year-old, so Boruta helped him with his beak, cackled again, as if asking whether Gellert was ready and off they went, to race against the sun and the Norns.

Gellert knew that all wards protecting magical borders have their weak points but was not sure where exactly they were located in 1890; fortunately Boruta seemed to have no such issues. Still it was thousands of miles to go and he did not even know where and when exactly Ariana had been… would be attacked. He hoped against hope that his estimations were correct and they would manage to save the girl.

And if they succeeded, then what?

Then Albus would have parents, far more money and no shameful family secrets. He would not get stuck with his mad sister in that parochial village, he would not get bored, he would not be wasting his time. In short, there would be no reason for him to become fascinated with Gellert. He would be a genial, spoiled, handsome, firstborn son of a respected and well-off family. He would be a teen believing he is second to none, unmatched and unbeatable. He will be one of those haughty Brits, deeply believing in his magical and moral superiority.

Ha. His superiority… He was the Headmaster of a school where students lived for seven years, a man heavy with honours, jingling with medals and orders like an old Soviet general, and an excellent wizard to boot. Still the Riddle boy managed to win the hearts and minds of his students, working alone and with hardly any resources right beneath his nose.

By the fangs of Fenris, Dumbledore was a talented puppet master but he lurked in the shadows all his life, avoiding showing his true colours. Well, of course it was clever of him to keep all his activities quiet, or else he risked losing his job and freedom.

Yet, geführt wird vorne, one cannot lead from the rear. Sooner or later, in order to win, one has to proudly raise the standard for the whole world to see, draw Excalibur and shout the order to charge at the top of one's lungs. Indeed, it meant risk and it meant casualties. Still, failing to act meant exactly the same.

'Oh, Albus' he whispered, having gotten used to thinking aloud in Nurmengard 'I know it hurt you to lose your people but they were your own schemes that twisted around their necks. You wanted to hold the reins alone, you did not consider anyone worthy to share your plans. I know keeping certain information secret is crucial but you get nowhere without trust as well.'

Boruta turned north; the giant bird seemed to know well not only where he was supposed to fly but also how to fool the barriers, wards and tripping spells that could alert the authorities.

`Do you know what I admired most in the officers of the 20th of July? There were quite a few of them but they managed to keep the secret, there was no traitor among them. Can you imagine the faith they had in one another to share such a plan? The courage to share it?` Gellert smiled at the very thought, speaking to the boy that had yet to meet him.

'You have never experienced such trust. You have always been alone, unlike me.' he continued 'Will I earn your trust this time? Will our friendship be strong? Albi, I know we were just two young idiots who did not understand what a treasure real friendship was. Still, I have never really betrayed you; if you want to see a Swabian breaking an oath of friendship, you have to wait forever and a day. And there were ways to destroy you, believe me; I could have claimed you had killed her and you would turn insane. You would never be able get rid of that thought, even if everyone told you I had lied.'

Well, sometimes he thought about it, he was at the brink of treason, but he was who he was: a brutal, tenacious, belligerent child of the Alps, yet proud and generous for his friends.

`Albi, I think it WAS you` he added 'I had not seen her as she was behind my back, so it must have been your spell that had hit her. Oh, Albi, I could have also paid a visit to some of your friends…' he smiled like a shark 'Still, I am a bit old-fashioned, I still have not forgotten the difference between an officer and a henchman… '

The merciless Sun – may it be swallowed by the wolves of Ragnarök – kept climbing the sky, the time was not on Gellert`s side.

`I have to admit there is quite a lot of brute in me nonetheless… When you are young you are impatient, you move fast and break things. I am a killer. I am a traitor, this is in my blood. I am a Swabian, I can turn the ocean red. Yet… If someone gave me their heart and mind, if they truly believed in the Greater Good, I remained loyal to them. I could betray an ally, but not a Kamerad.`

'Albi, will you go with me to battle when the night turns green, when the sky rains steel? Or will you just be one of those oh so high and mighty know-it-alls? Join me… and if not, may the Norns have mercy on you. All those yes-men of this narrow-minded, haughty society of yours will flatter you day and night and that will kill you. You will forget that you are only human and your first lesson of humbleness will be your last.'

.

Finally, the giant bird started to descend. Grindelwald was impressed; the rooster had managed to find the right village but where could Ariana be playing? Probably somewhere close to the Muggle farms but how to find her? Norns, have mercy!

The scream of Boruta made Grindelwald shudder, as though he was an old war thestral. It was no cackle, not even a triumphant cock-a-doodle-doo, it was a roar that reminded Gellert that Galliformes are cousins of Tyrannosauridae. The rooster swooped, aiming for his target like a bird of prey.

There she was, surrounded by three older boys… One of them pushed her and she fell to the ground… Gellert saw red.

No, he was no Gellert anymore, he was general Grindelwald, the dark wizard, berserker Grindelwald, der Fürst der Finsternis, the Prince of Darkness in person.

`Tod dem Feinde!` he yelled in rage `Death to the enemy!`

The wand shot curses practically by itself, he was howling in ecstasy and fury, urging the rooster to follow the boys.

Yet, he was a general in the other world and still he had not forgotten the basics. There was a task to fulfil and his wrath – although justified – should not make him fail. Ariana was the priority; that Muggle scum could be found later… He asked Boruta to come back to the girl and the bird obeyed immediately. Boruta landed, proudly flapped his wings and crowed triumphantly. Gellert wiped sweat off his forehead. The outburst of violence had been a mistake, the Aurors would be there in no time… But he was just a kid, right? They could not curse him to unconsciousness this time and anyhow his spells had not been more dangerous than a few hornet stings. He was really a child, his magical core was not mature yet and the use of advanced Dark Arts was out of question for quite a few years still.

He slid off Boruta's back and approached the terrified Ariana. She looked so small, so brittle… How could they…

Of course they could. People were capable of far worse than that and it was exactly for this reason he had to rewrite the history books. Such cruelty should be wiped from the chronicles of humankind. The wizarding world was small, no wastage of children – the future of said world – should be allowed.

'Alles wird gut' he said, again surprised by his own voice. With his old voice could persuade a goblin to disdain gold, but sounded uncertain in the tender tones of a boy.

She looked at him with Albus' blue eyes.

`Who are you?`

He took a deep breath. English, speak English, he reminded himself.

`My name is Gellert and you are?..`

`Ariana. You are not from here… from Scotland?`

`No, but my auntie is your neighbour. Don`t cry, they will never ever come here again.`

'They demanded magic of me… But I didn't know how…' she sobbed.

'They will teach you all at Hogwarts' said Gellert, slipping into the role of an older brother 'I'll bring you home.'

'With that rooster?' she eyed the bird suspiciously. Boruta, in the meantime, had spotted a cat, killed it with one blow of his massive beak and was busy consuming it.

'His name is Boruta, he will not hurt you. Come.'

The house of the Dumbledore family looked much better than Gellert had remembered. There were beautiful sculptures in the garden that had been missing in the other… time? (World? Future? He was not sure how to name it. THERE. It was simply THERE).

Thus, the sculptures were not in THERE. Well, such expensive works of art, full of magic and beauty were obviously the first thing to sell when the father of family was in prison and the mother could not work, too busy with the disabled child. Gellert noticed glasshouses as well, being positive they had not been there… THERE. Mrs Dumbledore definitely had had no time to take care of them.

He jumped off the rooster, helped Ariana dismount and knocked on the door. Then chaos broke out: Ariana was howling, Aberforth tried to calm her down and Mrs Dumbledore attempted simultaneously to save her cake from being burnt, hug Ariana and understand what was going on.

'Muggle boys?' she got it finally 'Sweet Merlin, we're lucky her magic didn't react!.'

Or something far worse could have happened… But it will not happen. Never. General Grindelwald had arrived in the nick of time… THIS time to prevent it.

'I'll give you a calming potion' Mrs Dumbledore was hugging the girl 'I'll Floo Daddy too…' she stood up to fetch the medicine.

It was only then that she noticed the presence of Gellert.

'Who are you?' she asked, surprised.

'He chased them away! With a rooster!' exclaimed Ariana.

Aberforth looked outside.

`Wow` he said `I want one of them! Mum, please!`

Gellert had no time to feed them a story about a magical dream that made him search Ariana as four Aurors arrived. One looked familiar to Grindelwald… but no, the one he remembered was much younger… thus must have been a son of even grandson of this one. Anyhow, it was of no importance anymore, that future was gone.

Still, how could he save his own skin without causing trouble for the Dumbledores? Well, the best lies are three quarters truth, so…

`The rooster belongs to me.` he stated simply.

`They…` Ariana burst into tears again.

Boruta crowed wildly and flew onto the roof, chased by curses and swears of the Aurors.

`The beast can kill someone… it attacked some Muggles… `

Oh, they must have seen the memories of those Muggle brats already. That was no good, they also would have heard him using German battle jinxes.

`Imperio!` One of the Aurors tried to subdue Boruta, to no avail. Gellert did not bother to tell them it was not the optimal way to deal with giant war roosters. They wouldn`t listen, anyhow.

Ariana was howling louder and louder and as the sole unknown party, blame was immediately foisted upon Gellert.

`What have you done to her, you…`

`Kraut brat, that what he is… All those Prussian war criminals should have been cursed to hell…`

The faces of his parents flashed in Gellert`s mind, searing pain ripping his soul. Though his parents were not Prussians and definitely not criminals, he knew the Aurors meant people like them... Like him. They made no difference between a Prussian, a Swabian or a German speaking Tyrolean, like most Germans did not make any difference between an Englishman and an Irishman.

`Haltet Maul` he whispered, his hand instinctively touching the wand. `Shut your holes up!` The room went strangely quiet. Oh, he just brushed the handle of the wand with his fingertips, he didn`t want to silence them with magic. This wand was indeed powerful…

Yet Aurors could cast spells without yelling the incantations loud; in a split second, four jinxes flew towards him; he hardly managed to duck. And duck again. He rolled on the floor and hid behind the kitchen closet, well aware that one good hex could blow his cover to pieces. Yet it would be idiotic to put up a fight under the circumstances and with a child's magic core he stood no chance against four professionals.

`What is going on here?` Mr Dumbledore peeked out of the fireplace `Ariana, sweetheart, why are you crying?`

The red haired lady Auror had already managed to break the unintentional silencing charm.

`Out of the way!` he shouted `It's a polyjuiced Prussian bandit!`

Oh, no.

`Leave him alone!` screeched Ariana, jumping between him and the Aurors `Leave him…`

BOOM.

Her magic went berserk, she howled, screamed, he remembered that sound, it was the very last sound she had ever…

Norns, have mercy.

'Flitwick' hissed Mr Dumbledore, sounding like an enraged Blitzkrieg warhorse 'What. Is. Going. On. Here. If something has happened to her, I will kill you.'

'Take me with you, then, I will help you' Gellert whispered to himself. His fists were clenched so badly, that his nails were cutting through the skin.

The Aurors looked at Mr Dumbledore rather sheepishly.

'Daddy!' Ariana cut in 'He has helped me and they want to jinx him! Daddy, do something!'

'What have you done' growled Mr Dumbledore 'I will tell Mrs Weasley tomorrow that her Aurors behave like drunken Muggles in the colonies!'

'Those nasty boys at the Greens wanted to beat me and he chased them away' explained Ariana.

Finally, the Aurors lowered their wands. Mr Dumbledore was seething, demanding explanations. The red-haired witch had just opened her mouth to answer when auntie Bathilda appeared in the doorway, wand in hand. No wonder, even Arthur on Avalon must have been woken up by all that noise.

.

Only then Gellert dared to leave his hiding place, slowly, cautiously, with hands over his head.

'Gellert!' gasped aunt Bathilda 'What are you doing in here? Wulfric' she turned to the grey haired Auror 'What have you done to this child?' she asked with a sharp tone.

'You happen to know him, Bathlida?'

'He is a distant relative of mine. His name is Grindelwald, Gellert Grindelwald. It's not the first time he's gotten in trouble… but how could he get here? If his great-grandmothers realise…'

'Auntie' moaned Gellert in the most childish tone he could 'I did not mean anything wrong, it was a dream…'

Slowly, the situation began to clear.

'Wand theft, illegal international flight, attack against Muggles, use of a dangerous animal, casting a…'

'I did not mean it!'

'…jinx against the Auror forces…' Flitwick counted up his trespasses 'Oh, boy, we will hear about you again, I'm afraid' he sighed 'Where are your parents?'

`In the graveyard. Cursed to hell` he hissed through clenched teeth `Like my grandparents.`

`Gellert!` aunt Bathlida rebuked him `It is a sensitive topic for him, Wulfric, you have to understand…` she explained.

The grey haired Auror sighed.

`So who is in responsible for him?`

`His great-grandmothers, all four of them. You should know that… Oh, sweet Merlin, speaking of the dragon… Lady Elisabeth is here! Quick, hide your wands before she jumps to conclusions!`

Indeed, his great-grandmother Elisabeth had just landed right in front of the gate. She came with great fanfare, in that fancy uniform she put on only for state ceremonies, on her best sleipnir horse, accompanied by a group of black-clad witches, battle dogs and Munin alone knows who else.

The witches worried Gellert most. They were no Aurors and their clothes bore no insignia which suggested Elisabeth had brought a bunch of mercenaries ready for … illegal action, if her charming personality would not be enough to bring Gellert safe home. And that would mean leaving no witnesses or at least Obliviating them to hell and back. Gellert knew Elisabeth would not murder the Dumbledore children but erasing their memories would be a must if it came to a clash; his plans regarding rebuilding friendship with Albus would then be ruined. Oh, no.

Elisabeth dismounted the horse with an elegant, energetic movement, as if she were twenty seven, not a hundred and twenty seven. Boruta crowed loudly and flapped his wings to greet her.

She beckoned at her companions to follow her and entered the kitchen of the Dumbledore family like it was a conquered fortress. Glass and china, shattered by Ariana`s outburst, cracked under her boots. Gellert flinched; he knew the sound only too well and knew it meant nothing good.

The great-grandmother scanned them all with the piercing glare of her left eye; she had lost her right one before Gellert was born. Her right arm was also missing, which left the sleeve of her uniform to flatter and jump annoyingly.

Mr Dumbledore scratched the scar on his left cheek nervously and the red haired Auror asked `Are you responsible for this child, madam?`

`Indeed. That`s why I`m here` replied Elisabeth in a silky tone.

`And you are…?`

`Elisabeth Batory, the general of the Auror Corps of Transylvania, Moldavia, Wallachia, Hungary, Tirol, Bavaria, Swabia, Carinthia and Styria. Internationally I'm… famous… or infamous…` she smiled `as the Danube Rusalka`.

.

_So, language:_

_Kuhschelle: pasqueflower_

_Kamerad: a companion, fellow, comrade; Gellert means 'Kriegskamerad', i.e. fellow soldier, a comrade in arms_

_._

_Then, legends:_

_Boruta is one of the famous Polish devils, able to take a form of a giant bird or a very fast horse. Giant black roosters as steeds for wizards is also a Polish invention; look up at the Moon: the shadows on its surface is Mr Twardowski, a wizard from Cracow and his rooster who brought him up there._

_._

_Rusalka is a water demon, taking a form of a woman. In one of the versions, rusalkas danced and sang at the river banks, their voice attracting men. Oh, you can guess: it did not end well for the men. _

_Finally, history:_

_Batory / __Báthory: a Hungarian prince family of Swabian origins (now you see why I chose that name for Gellert's great-grandma…); the most famous member of the family was Stephen Batory, the prince of Transylvania and king of Poland;_

_Elisabeth Batory also existed, she was accused of really nasty blood magic_

_Gellert, with his Hungarian fist name, German last name, a castle in Austria (and Nurmengard does not sound Austrian at all) and an auntie in Scotland must have an international family tree…_

_._

_The Maginot Line was a line of fortifications, supposed to protect France from Nazi Germany. Yet the German officers were not so stupid as to try to break through it; the attacking army went through Belgium and the Netherlands thus approaching a weak point of the Line in the Ardennes. The Line planners believed the rough terrain there would slow the attackers down so that defence could be organised on time. Well, to cut a long story short, it turned out to be a false assumption._

10


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter four**

**Unexpected changes**

Elisabeth Batory. The Aurors hadn't expected that.

Gellert tensed, seeing how the mercenaries watched his great-grandmother;, his Uroma, with rapt attention, their muscles tense, waiting for the order to attack.

Mr Dumbledore seemed unable to decide whether Elisabeth was a dear, though uninvited guest or a brutal aggressor. She, in turn, was watching him carefully, instinctively recognising the strongest opponent. Then she noticed the claymore sword hanging over the fireplace and smiled widely.

`Dumbledore!` she exclaimed, surprised `Is it really you? Percival Dumbledore…` She approached him without further ado and ran her fingers down the scar on his cheek. `We meet again… It must be our Weird. Do you remember me?` she asked with her rough, heavy French.

`Ma générale` he replied through clenched teeth `Your invitations for a tea cannot be forgotten … I assure you we have not done anything to your grandson. We mean him no harm.`

`If I thought you wanted to hurt him, you would have felt it with your every nerve already, believe me` she hissed `Ich kann auch anders, I can show a different side of myself… I prefer not to, as you already know, but I can. I can!.` she bared her teeth and her lips twitched in anger.

The Aurors, who clearly didn`t understand any French, started to fidget. Elisabeth eyed them coldly. Oh, no.

`Uroma, please` begged Gellert `I have come here out of my own volition. Do not hurt them.`

`Percival would never fall as low as to harm a child` she replied curtly `We know each other quite well… Do you remember, Percival, how we met? Have you forgotten?`

So she wanted the proof that she faced the true Dumbledore, not an impostor. Gellert hoped Mr Dumbledore had understood that and would deliver what she wanted.

`Ma générale, no one wanted…`

`I don`t want to cause any diplomatic incidents, Percival` she cut in warningly `Have I accused you of anything?`

`Last time you called me an idiot red headed murderer, as far as I can recall.`

Elisabeth rolled her eye theatrically.

`Because you were an idiot` she grinned like a shark `It would have been far more reasonable to run. You could have ended like a Muggle highwayman, hung on the nearest tree. A bandit you were, Dumbledore, a stupid, noble bandit.`

General Batory maybe didn`t want to cause any diplomatic incident but was heading straight for a _casus belli_.

`To get me to the nearest tree, you would have had to transport me a thousand miles through a thousand of anti-apparition wards, madam` retorted Percival, nothing daunted ` Letting me go was an more… economical option. Unless you could find a tree in Kavir-e- Namak and that would be a feat.`

Elisabeth smiled widely, gesturing for her witches to pocket their wands.

`Could you finally tell us what`s going on?` asked the red haired Auror.

`Ruth` replied Mr Dumbledore calmly `General Batory was just worried that someone wanted to harm her grandson.. Politics is such a dirty game, you understand… She will take the boy and leave without causing any further… incidents.`

Elisabeth laughed loudly `Don`t be so modest, Percival!` she exclaimed `Tell them the whole story… How you wanted to curse my head off!` she laughed again, as if it were a good joke `They had no chances in an open battle so they tried to pay me a friendly visit in the middle of the night hoping that, if they manage to get rid of the leader, my army… Oh, how was your name again… Rutty, dear, don't look so shocked. Aiming at the head of a beast is a clever idea…` she laughed again, seeing the shock on the Auror`s face ` Unless you face an erumpent, of course. So, they gave it a try, it didn`t work, such actions being inherently risky, and, well, this red headed idiot, instead of running, protected his fellow fighters… And as evil deeds are supposedly punished after death and good deeds are punished immediately for sure, he ended up with a scar on his face and had to drink a cup of tea with me.`

`I will never forget the taste of that tea, ma générale` Mr Dumbledore shook his head.

`I bet` Elisabeth smiled impishly.

Gellert had known the great-grandmother was vogelwild, completely crazy, following nothing but her own conscience but to spare the life of somebody who attempted to… Jormungand`s fangs. Well, though in the battlefield she showed her berserker side, she could also be magnanimous to the extent that surprised both the enemies and the supporters; and that had brought her gratitude and respect. If he had taken a leaf from her book more often….

Maybe he had learnt a bit already: he had let Meçut go and the young man would send him behind the bars if he could… Sure he would, that would be a splendid start for his career.

.

Stop. That had been THERE. What mattered now was to win the friendship of the Dumbledore family. Mr Dumbledore was obviously a powerful ally; he had after all dared to avenge his daughter and courageously had paid the price for that.

But that was THERE. Here, in this world, Ariana would be healthy; her father would not die in prison. The grandmother of Albus would not die as well; as far as Grindelwald remembered, she had died THERE trying to heal the poor girl.

How many powerful allies he could win if he played this right!

`Ma générale` Percival interrupted his musings `You did not announced your visit so please forgive us all that… fuss. But my wife has just finished baking the apple tart and my aunt has sent me a pack of splendid tea…`

`Curt and to the point, that's how a warrior should speak` smiled Elisabeth `And maybe I will finally learn what wind has blown my Gellert here… But, first things first, let's clean this place…`

Her companions drew their wands and in the twinkling of an eye the house looked as if nothing had happened.

The Aurors informed general Batory that she would have to pay a fine for Gellert's trespasses and left without further fuss.

`Where is your third child, Percival?` asked Elisabeth when the tart and the tea had been put on the table.

`I can see your intelligence service…`

`Do you really think they have nothing better to do?` retorted Batory `I am one-eyed but not blind, I can still see that clock on the wall.`

Indeed, the old clock showing the locations of all family members showed clearly that Albus was absent.

`He should be here in few minutes.`

`I would love to meet him` piped Gellert, trying to sound as innocent as possible. His great-grandmother looked at him, as if she just recalled the reason of her visit.

`Darling` she said, the familiar term sounding insincere on her lips, `Please explain to me WHY you are here.`

`Please, don't punish him, general` spoke Mrs Dumbledore `He saved our little daughter from a bunch of Muggles. They could have…` she shook, still shocked.

`The wand` said Elisabeth simply, stretching her hand towards Gellert who handed it to her without a word. The old witch waved it in a complex pattern, murmuring something quietly.

`It obeyed you` she stated rather than asked. Gellert nodded, feeling all his muscles tensing.

`If the wand of the old Bellicosa has not ripped your fingers off, you must have had a legitimate reason to use it. Her wand of elder is rather… demanding of its wizard` she said curtly, closing the case.

Oh, by Norns, the wand of elder, the Elder Wand. The wand for complex spellwork and the epic battles only. But it was not THAT wand, he was positive. How could it be?

`Mum, are we having guests?` he heard a surprised voice.

Albus?

He bit his tongue so as not to shout the name out loud.

Albus? No, a kid with bruised knees, a child's broom under his arm and a half-eaten apple in his hand.

Albus? Albus! Albi...

HALT. Stop. This is another Albus. This Albus will not be orphaned; he will never be a teen overwhelmed with responsibility against his mad sister and the troublemaker brother. This will not be the lonely, resigned, helpless Albus.

He must have been so desperate to focus all his feelings, dreams and desires on Gellert whom he had hardly known. But this Albus will have other options. Maybe he will find a woman and marry her. Or maybe he will find the man of his dreams, who knows? Some people play for both Quidditch teams. Anyhow, Gellert would not be the only option, the hopeless dream that would never come true.

Albus THERE was so exalted, so exaggerative, so possessive, so… pathetic. THERE, Gellert had been his only hope, his only company, his only… possibility to channel the desires and dreams of youth. Albus had clung to Gellert, leaving him no air to breathe. But here and now, with healthy family situation, this would not be a repeat.

.

General Batory, having tasted the tart, loudly expressed her praise.

'Oh, this is just an old recipe of my grandma's' smiled Mrs Dumbledore shyly.

'I would love to get it.'

'You bake, general?' asked Kendra, visibly surprised. No wonder, Uroma Elisabeth did not resemble a lovely cake-baking German Omi.

'Sometimes' replied Elisabeth 'I used to be a good potion maker as well' she added 'But now' she looked at her empty sleeve 'It's not like it used to be.'

'Oh, really', thought Gellert sarcastically, knowing his Uroma had lost her arm at the age of fourteen, in her very first skirmish. Nonetheless, she was a talented alchemist, able to get obstacles out of her way with a poison or an explosive. Anyhow, she was good at getting rid of stones in her path; she was a witch that got things done, an eighteenth century princess, achieving her goals with Avadas, poisoned wine and her uterus.

'Speaking of wine, Uroma…' Gellert said to himself 'Do not pretend you cannot mix a thing or two in your cauldron, THERE it had been revealed who had blown Dracula's train into the air, starting a long and fierce discussion whether she was an insidious murderer or a lion-hearted heroine.`

Fools. As if it had to be a contradiction. Sometimes murder and treason were the only honourable and reasonable option. Elisabeth had killed Dracula, that was all that counted; and she was no flawless altruist, that was another story. Kindness and magnanimity cannot kill monsters, it is treason and lies that do.

'Well' continued Elisabeth 'I still experiment a bit… I've been toying with an interesting idea… But I would need true blue roses for my potion and they are hard to find. The roses that are really blue, not just charmed blue, I mean.'

Kendra smiled and whispered something into Aberforth's year; the boy ran out of the room and came back a few minutes later with a huge flower. Shyly, he handed it to general Batory.

'What a gentleman' she thanked, examining deep blue petals carefully 'How many could you deliver right now, Mrs Dumbledore?'

'About a hundred' replied Kendra 'I have selected that strain myself; yet they are still not MoM-approved.'

'I don't mind' replied the general 'I would like to buy them all.'

'It took me ten years and hundreds of advanced charms to produce them' said Mrs Dumbledore 'Thus the cost…'

'I don't mind, just name your price. Honest work is to be remunerated honestly.'

Gellert felt dizzy. He thought he would just save Ariana… Yet if Uroma Elisabeth got those flowers now, she could brew her Blue Potion three years earlier than she had done it THERE. Which meant Uroma Ludwiga could start taking said potion three years earlier and maybe live longer, maybe long enough to prevent the war that had broken out THERE in seven years, ravaging magical Europe. This would mean…

'Hey, a Knut for your thoughts' Albus prodded him with his elbow.

'Oh… Nothing, really, I'm just tired'.

'But you will join us to fly a kite? I have got a splendid one from Gran, she charmed it herself.'

HALT. It was no time for intrigues and plans. Now, he would play and have fun, wars and plots could wait untill tomorrow. He will save his world, with tanks, spells and lies. Tomorrow. But now, he will enjoy being young and alive. He will live, not just exist.

'A kite? The last one of us outside is a flobberworm!' he shouted, jumping to his feet.

.

The harsh Scottish wind let the kite rise high up, ruffling their hair and tugged at their robes. The day was sunny and long, as they were far up North, and Gellert was set to enjoy every second of it.

When they got bored with the kite, Aberforth – how could he have considered that boy a nuisance THERE? – led them to the ponies and they were off, galloping through the wallowing grass.

Boom-boom-BOOM, boom-boom-BOOM, the tiny hooves thudded against the hard soil in the rhythm of joy and play, not of chase and battle. When they got tired, they simply took a break, there was no need to strain, to fight… Gellert hugged his animal, kissing its soft muzzle. Oh, by all gods of Asgard, Uroma Ludwiga was alive again, and in her stables Bö, Flocke, Lisa and Lotte were waiting for him, and he was again small and light enough to ride them, jumping over those funny, short hedges of Linderhof palace. Oh, great Norns, may the Sun never set!

Albus… He had not changed; he was curious, bright and a bit pompous. Though, to be honest, it was Aberforth who had a way with animals, which Albus clearly lacked. Furthermore, Albus already had the desire to best everyone, getting sulky if he lost even a pony race.

'He's always like that' snorted Aberforth 'He thinks he should always win, that he is the best.'

Oh, this had never changed… But maybe now his parents would shape his character in a better way.

.

Ariana was sitting in the grass, playing with blue butterflies she had conjured.

Gellert wanted to laugh and howl at the same time; those butterflies had almost been the cause of her becoming one of the living dead and she would never know that.

Mrs Dumbledore gave them strawberries, big as their fists and sweet as the life that was nearly lost. Crispy apples crunched between his teeth, their juices running down his chin. Gellert was dazzled with the intensity of sounds, colours and aromas; he had forgotten already how it feels to have healthy, young eyes, how it is not to be hard of hearing due to explosions. Norns, may this day never end!

.

Mrs Dumbledore played the piano, whilst general Batory sang with her pure, deep alto.

`Play the general's aria for me!` she laughed.

'Which is…'

` Nessun dorma, nessun dorma... ` started Elisabeth slowly.

'But… where is a general in there?'

`At the very end. All'alba vincerò! Vincerò! Vincerò! In the morning I will win!`

Gellert could have spent the whole of eternity there.

.

_Werd ich zum Augenblicke sagen: _

_Verweile doch! Du bist so schön! _

_Dann magst du mich in Fesseln schlagen, _

_Dann will ich gern zugrunde gehn! _

_Dann mag die Totenglocke schallen,  
Dann bist du deines Dienstes frei,  
Die Uhr mag stehn, der Zeiger fallen,  
Es sei die Zeit für mich vorbei!_

_If ever I to the moment shall say:  
Beautiful moment, do not pass away!  
Then you may forge your chains to bind me__,  
Then I will put my life behind me,  
Then let them hear my death-knell toll,  
Then from your labours you'll be free,  
The clock may stop, the clock-hands fall,  
And time come to an end for me!_

_._

He shuddered. No, he couldn't stop or else this beautiful world would pop like a soap bubble. He did not have time to waste and the very first thing to do was to make friends with the whole Dumbledore family.

'Oma' he asked with an innocent tone 'Could I stay here overnight?'

.

He stayed for the whole week. He rode the ponies, swam in the creek, flew a tiny broomstick and stuffed himself with fruits and tarts. He also helped Mrs Dumbledore with the plants and learnt a lot. On the eight day, they spent the whole morning chasing the saplings from the Birnam Wood that Mrs Dumbledore had just received. The naughty, little trees managed to escape the parcel they had been sent in and bolted. Thus, under command of Kendra, they spent hours capturing them. They, that is him, Ariana and Aberforth (whom he called Abi) because Albus, a confirmed bookworm, didn`t like to have dirt under his nails.

`Finally` sighed Mrs Dumbledore, wiping sweat off her face after forcing a last protesting birch into a pot `Thank you, Gellert, you are a great help.`

`Help? I once killed your daughter tortured your son. And, by the way, once this sweet little girl killed you because you refused her another piece of chocolate` he thought. `

Stop. This had never happened and never will. Anyhow, he couldn`t recall anymore how Ariana had died. There had been an argument that turned into a duel, that was all he remembered.

`Mum!` he heard Abi shouting `A lady came to pick Lert up!`

Definitely, he will throttle Abi one day for nicknaming him `Lert`, he hated that cosy name.

The lady turned out to be his great-grandmother Ludwiga. She strode down the path slowly, her blue cloak rustling and gliding on the bushes, somehow without getting caught by the thorny branches. He must learn this cloak protection spell from her, it looked so elegant.

Mrs Dumbledore wiped her hands and stood up to greet the guest.

`Ludwiga von Bayern, Gellert`s great-grandmother` the old witch stated simply.

`Oh, the one called `king`s daughter`?` piped Albus up. Of course, he was not there when there was work to do but popped up to show off with his knowledge. The little smart-mouthed bookworm must have read something about von Bayerns somewhere… Well, Gellert had seen some history books in Albus' room… the boy even read this idiotic "The Daily Prophet"!

`Child` replied Ludwiga gently, polar opposite to his other carer `I am not called king`s daughter. I am one.`

Uroma Ludwiga was exactly like Gellert remembered her: calm, smiling, quick at repartee.

Fenris` fangs, she was Klasse, she ruled and stole the thunder wherever she appeared..

Speaking of Fenris, hopefully she had not brought,,, Oh, no.

`Wow, what a goat!` exclaimed Abi and, without waiting for permission, run towards Ludwiga`s habergoass, stuffing his hands into the long, black fur. `Mum, he has four horns!`

Good Mrs Dumbledore was a master of Herbology, not Zoology, or else she would have dropped dead. The habergoass was big and muscular as a draught-horse and magically powerful; Gellert, even in his prime would be afraid to face him alone.

`His hooves are not cloven!` announced Abi joyfully.

Well, the goat had hooves as big as plates and could send Aberforth flying a mile up in the air with one good kick but would never do it. No magical being was so stupid to hurt someone who had pockets full of juicy apples and shared them with joy.

`What a clever Bub… boy` observed Ludwiga `Are you interested in animals?`

`He`s interested in all that runs, flies, swims or crawls` sighed Kendra `Abi, NO!`

`Oh, let him take a ride` smiled Ludwiga `My Dark Lord is a good goat, he loves children if only they don`t tease him.`

`A good goat?` murmured Gellert `It`s a one-goat-army!`

And the one-goat army carried Abi on his back, obeying his orders patiently.

`What a power` stated great-grandma with wonder `He should be an Magozoologist or an Animal Whisperer. Have you thought about educating him accordingly? It would be a pity to waste such a talent.`

.

Aberforth was in seventh heaven while Albus, sulky, sat on the bench in silence, clearly displeased to be ignored. Ha. Someone bested Mr Perfect.

`I am deeply grateful for you hospitality` continued Ludwiga with a gentle smile `But it`s time to go, Gellert.`

`Oh, no, please` moaned Aberforth `I wanted to show him the kelpie…`

`Aberforth!` hissed Kendra `How many time should I tell you not to…`

`Oh` cut Ludwiga in `This would be splendid but we really have to go. Will you pay us a visit, Aberforth?` she smiled at Aberforth `There are so many fascinating beings in my forest I could show you.`.

'Mum, please' begged Abi.

'Of course you can visit Gellert' smiled Mrs Dumbledore.

`Let's go` insisted Ludwiga 'I have opened the wards just for one hour, there is not time to lose.'

She harnessed the habergoass and sat on the coach-box; Gellert took a place at her side.

.

Ludwiga coughed badly as she grasped the reins, pulled a little flask out of her robes and took a gulp. The potion was blue like the roses of Mrs Dumbledore; clearly great-grandma Elisabeth had not wasted the time.

.

Ludwiga, on the way to Munich, stopped at the Neuschwanstein palace. It looked like a toy in pictures but in reality it was a mighty castle with tall towers and thick walls. Its magical version, still much bigger than the Muggle one, was simply overwhelming.

`What a splendid place` sighed the old witch.

Gellert agreed. The castle was located in the forest, on the top of a hill, protected by steep slopes and a creek, traversing a dangerous canyon. The nearby lake glittered in the sun.

'If my health allows' continued Ludwiga 'The school will be opened here soon. I would like you join the very first year here.'

Oh. Something had changed again, though he had never planned it. But it was a positive change. He loved Neuschwanstein.

`Thank you, Omi. What great news.`

.

.

"_Once the rockets are up, who cares where they come down?  
That's not my department" says Wernher von Braun._

_You too may be a big hero,  
Once you've learned to count backwards to zero.  
"In German oder English I know how to count down,  
Und I'm learning Chinese, " says Wernher von Braun._

_TOM LEHRER, „Wernher von Braun"_

So, language

`Ma générale` is not quite correct in Muggle French but if to a man you say mon(sieur) général so why not ma(dame) générale?

_Kavir-e Namak is a salty desert in Iran. No trees._

_The palace of __Linderhof exists and belonged to the royal house of von Bayern (Bayern = Bavaria). Same applies to Neuschwanstein (this is that Disney-style castle on a hill every tourist visiting Bavaria has to see)_

_If ever I to the moment shall say: Beautiful moment, do not pass away! – stolen from Goethe, the famous dialogue between Faustus and Mephistopheles_

_Oma, Omi: Gran, Granny, Grandma; Uroma / Uromi: great-grandma_

_Habergoass is a legendary Austrian being, a monstrous goat / a hybrid of a human and a goat. Btw. some real goats do have four horns._

9


	5. Chapter 5

_Chapter 5_

_When History strikes back_

Ludwiga von Bayern drove her phaeton fast, taking sharp turns on the crowded streets of Munich, dexterously avoiding collisions with other carriages. Gellert knew she had won numerous races in her youth and childishly enjoyed her skilled manoeuvres, sticking his tongue out to annoy the Muggle gentlemen Ludwiga overtook their fancy gigs. He wondered whether his great-grandma really didn`t notice his rudeness or looked the other way deliberately, enjoying the ride.

The big basket of lush flowers wobbled and tumbled as they drove over cobblestones, approaching the city centre. Gellert smiled; it was Mrs Dumbledore who had delivered the plants; by tomorrow all wizarding nobles would know and flood her with orders. Fantastic. He wanted their support and he sincerely liked Kendra. Good in this timeline she would not be dead in few years…

Gellert enjoyed passing through the city, so different from the one he remembered, the city not yet scarred by the two great wars… The city that would never be touched by them as long as he held his wand! Not anymore.

A memory whizzed through his brain. `Hauptstadt der Bewegung` - that`s how the Nazis called Munich `the capital of the (nazi)movement`… Was Hitler already here, in one of the numerous Bierhallen – pubs – standing on a beer barrel?

Gellert shook his head. The kings of that chessboard were boys now, running through the village streets in shorts and stealing apples off the trees. He could forget them for a moment.

.

Ludwiga turned onto Neuhauser Street and stopped in front of the Jesuits church. Oh, that's why she needed those flowers… And that's why she had a black dress on.

Slowly, they descended to the crypt of the House Wittelsbach.

'Poor Ludwig' sighed the old witch, placing the basket at the foot of one of the royal tombs 'Poor Ludwig' she repeated with grim resignation.

'Indeed' thought Gellert 'Märchenkönig, the Fairy Tale King, his tale had no 'and they lived happily ever after'`.

As far as Gellert could recall, King Ludwig, a strong swimmer and a healthy, sporty man, was found in shallow water, with a bullet in his temple, which was officially considered as "suicide by drowning".

'Why didn't you help him, Omi?' he asked aloud 'Though a Muggle, he knew that magic existed… Right?'

'Oh, of course he knew about magic… And he would have loved to wield it' she answered 'He was never satisfied with what he was… He was born in the Muggle part of our family but wished to be a wizard; he was a ruler of a small kingdom but dreamt to be an emperor deciding the fate of the continent; he lived in the world of dreams and no king can do that and survive it.'

Gellert quivered. How true she was. He also wanted to live a dream and woke up into the nightmare of the millennium.

'He didn't ask you for help, did he?' he croaked.

'No, he didn't' she sighed again 'Maybe he was too proud to admit his helplessness, or maybe he realised the risk too late, I don't know. There was a war raging on our side then, I was so busy that I didn't see his doom coming till… Till he was lying in the lake… Dead. Murdered. But… we shouldn't meddle in their affairs anyhow…'

'Why?' he interrupted rudely 'What would be so wrong in stopping this crime… this dishonour?!'

'We hide from Muggles not only for our own safety' she replied calmly ' Though it is true that the Muggles would either enslave or kill us if they knew of our existence, we also remain separate for their own protection, because they are also humans, who have the right to decide their own fate, not have our views forced upon them; for that is not freedom, not justice. They have the right to make their own decisions, to live freely. Our reign would bring no one any good. No peaceful coexistence is, unluckily, possible. Whenever two civilisations clash, blood flows…'

'Yet we could help them to avoid their mistakes.'

'Enslave them, you mean' she snorted indignantly 'Gellert, Schatz, ask your great-grandmother Joyce how slavery looks like. Unlimited power engenders disdain and abuse.'

'But we could help them fight famine and poverty…'

'And then decide what is good for them. And then force them to live the way we choose. When does this become an abuse of power? We have a penchant to sadism and greed, we are not better humans, only more powerful humans…'

A wave of magic, magic that seemed somehow… familiar and yet strange, hit Gellert, taking him by surprise. He heard the deadly incantation pronounced loud and with determination; Ludwiga pushed him to the side with force unexpected for a gravely sick old lady. Gellert instinctively rolled across the floor, seeking shelter behind the tomb. He heard her shout 'Bavaria' at the top of her lungs, his fingers groping for the Elder Wand… But he was just a child, he was weak, defenceless and could only watch the green beam hit his great-grandma square in her chest.

Avada Kedavra, like many other spells, is visible, yet its beam does not move with the speed of light; it is even relatively slow compared to other curses. Thus Gellert could see the green beam hitting Ludwiga, throwing her to the floor. The dress fabric ripped with a loud crack; the thread of her necklace broke, sending the pearls shooting through the air. In this very moment the stone lion, with his enormous paw hit the assassin in the back of his head; the man fell to his face without even a moan and didn't move anymore. The lion's roar shook the crypt, echoing against its stone walls and then the silence fell; only the pearls were still rattling on the floor.

Gellert stayed put in his hiding, expecting others aggressors to come. The lion, obviously having the same suspicion, looked around, sniffed loudly several times and then hit the floor with his tail three times. They were alone.

Gellert jumped out of his hiding and knelt at Ludwiga's side. He didn't waste his time checking whether the enemy was alive; he knew the lion of Bavaria didn't do things by halves.

The old witch, to his enormous surprise and relief, sat up with a moan. Blood was trickling down the back of her head.

'I'm fine, Schatz' she whispered 'I just cut my skin, falling.'

'But… the curse…' he whispered `It… It was green!`

She laughed dryly.

'My necklace alone has stopped it, I think. And besides…' she bared her teeth in a grimace that didn`t fit her usual gentle manners 'That squib was not the first one. I know a trick or two' she pushed the ripped fabric to the side, exposing the shining wires.

Gellert knew well that Avada Kedavra, though unstoppable by any magical shield, can be blocked mechanically. Any solid object would do; however, metals and gemstones were particularly suitable for this purpose. No wonder his great-grandma survived – she wore more orders and medals than a Soviet field marshal during a parade; her pearl necklace was at least ten feet long and her dress was embroidered with a silver thread. Speaking of the dress…

'Oma, you wear a mail under your shirt?' he asked, surprised. He didn`t remember her well from his previous life; it seemed he had underestimated her by miles. Well, maybe that was her strategy – to look gentle and weak and then take the opponent by surprise.

'Under the dress, strictly speaking, Schatz. It's called Valkyrie's Full Slip.' she explained calmly, 'It's capable of protecting you from practically any curse. Normal clothing would not stop the Killing Curse, as magic considers it a part of the wizard and thus penetrates it easily, but this is an electrum yarn woven by the goblins, it is magic-proof to a great extent. If you decide to follow a political career, I advise you to wear the male version.'

'Odin's Long Johns' he thought, smiling; he had already calmed down.

'Let me help you to your feet' he offered.

'Let me see who it was' she hissed through clenched teeth and hobbled towards their enemy 'I assume, he will not tell us anything anymore…' she murmured, patting the stone lion.

The animal grinned and turned the corpse face up with its paw. Gellert looked at the man and stepped back.

'Albus…' he whispered in terror. But he was wrong. Indeed, the enemy was similar to Albus; yet his hair was not auburn but strawberry blond, his eyes were green and he had freckles.

'Idiot boy' hissed Ludwiga 'He must have been only in his late teens… Poor idiot… By Odin, let's go' she commanded briskly 'You shouldn't look at such things… There could be more of them, quick! Through the hidden door…'

.

.

They drove back to Neuschwanstein castle fast, the flying horse beating its wings with powerful strokes, Ludwiga driving standing, her sharp features tense, making her look harsh and stern. Maybe this was the true Ludwiga von Bayern, mused Gellert. The king's daughter who went from Munich to New York in a flying gig in three hours – no one had broken that record yet as far as Gellert could recall – to prevent general Batory from massacring the city defenders.

Not that great-grandma Elisabeth had enjoyed such bloody shows; yet she had a clear order to execute all her prisoners and her political position was weak, seemingly too weak to dare refusing the direct and explicit order of Dracula… To fail the test of loyalty that said order certainly was.

Gellert shook his head nervously. He should be careful with his thoughts, they were improper for a child, if any Legilimens would realise he knew too much for a nine-year-old, he could get in trouble.

Anyhow, somehow Ludwiga did it, no execution took place. Dracula became livid, it was said, hexing everything and everyone in his sight; yet great-grandma Batory survived his wrath. She must not have taken his anger too seriously, … Instead of worrying about Dracula's punishment, she spent her days in New York going to the opera with a handsome and much younger Quidditch player… Gellert's great-grandfather.

That was strange; she usually used her womb as a weapon, giving birth to children that would bring her some political advantage, and made no secret of it. What was it worth to risk yet another pregnancy in the middle of a war? What was the use of Gellert's grandmother, a bastard of a Muggleborn? There must have been something. Gellert wondered whether in this timeline he would learn the truth about that winter in New York.

.

.

In the evening, when Gellert was already in bed, Ludwiga flooed Charlotta.

'I have a question' started von Bayern without beating around the bush.

'...And I'm worrying to death' retorted the other witch 'Gossip is spreading; Who wanted to shoot you?'

'He meant to hit Gellert' stated Ludwiga bluntly.

'Excuse me?'

'I saw who he was aiming at. And… The moment I noticed him, I felt a wave of magic, very similar to the one registered on the 31st of July.'

Charlotta pondered over her words, sucking at the tip of her quill.

'That wizard is dead, I assume.' she said finally.

'As usual, your assumption is correct. He meant it, I couldn`t handle him with silk gloves.'

'So I need the data from your magographs. The whole matter smells fishy.'

'Do you believe that Gellert…'

'Do you believe that Gellert saved that Scottish girl by chance?' interrupted Charlotta 'I have done the calculations. There is no way to get from Transylvania to Scotland that fast unless you choose the optimal magotrajectory. Which means he must have had his goal set the moment he mounted that overgrown birdy of Elisabeth's. And the rooster must have flapped his wings with all his might. It was a battle flight, not a pleasure cruise.'

'But how could Gellert know…'

'Till we find that out, keep our talk secret, close your mind and do not turn your back to him.'

.

.

The North Sea was, as usual, bad-tempered. The sea spray, carried by the harsh wind, penetrated his nose and ran down his neck with cold trickles. The great-grandmother Ludwiga ignored the weather enthusiastically and so did Aberforth, who was literally bouncing in his excitement.

'Let's take a swim' the old witch stated joyfully 'It does you good and you can meet…'

Gellert drifted off; he had more than enough of her beloved giant wolves (Hati, Geri, Freki, Rudi, Dolfi… to name just a few), overgrown goats, Russian firebirds, hybrids of horses with whatever was possible (it seemed Loki was a goody two shoes compared to Ludwiga, at least when it came to the breeding program) and… And that was just the beginning.

Well, he had to admit those animals were fascinating and useful and great-grandma Ludwiga had forgotten more than the world's magizoologists had yet learned. Yet her enthusiasm was exhausting. She had invited Abi to Munich stating that Gellert needed some company to recover from the 'incident in the church' and was firmly set to show them all the toothy monsters she possessed.

'Look' squeaked Abi, jumping with excitement 'This is… WOW.'

The giant, triangular fin ploughed the waves majestically, slowly approaching them. Gellert moaned. Sure, megalodons were fantastic animals. Unable to pump the water through their gills, they had to roam the ocean restlessly, day and night, which made them splendid sentinels. Unlike whales, they didn`t need to resurface to breathe and used no sonar to locate obstacles, so the enemy had enormous difficulties spotting them, in spite of their size. Last but not least it was enough to mention them to intimidate most opponents and scare a confession out of most prisoners.

Ha. A moray or a barracuda could also rip a man to pieces, yet most people would just shrug, should they be threatened with a bath with them. The very word "shark", on the other hand, made people quiver. Magic, that word was magical, he twisted his lips in a nasty smile.

So, the megalodon was a useful animal. Still, how could they meet that fish face to face? It was far too big to come close to the shore.

Said megalodon arched its enormous body, hit the water with its tail fin and – hopping quite gracefully – came out of the water. A fountain of cold water ejected out of its blowhole so they all got an unwanted shower.

`VROOM!` The animal roared, sounding like a braking train crossed with a tank engine howling as it was pushed to it's capacity.

Well, now Gellert could see he had been wrong, it was no megalodon at all, it was a killer whale… a little on the large size. The killer whale that could hunt a fully grown megalodon down.

'Are we supposed to swim with it?' he asked, sceptically.

'With her' retorted Ludwiga 'And treat my Avada like a lady, remember. Avada, my Schatz' she kissed the animal and patted it gently; the whale flapped its tail fin in response, giving them another cold shower 'Yes, we are going to swim all together… There are wild krakens and sea serpents out there, she will protect us. Let me give you the Gillyweed… Chew it thoroughly. And close your eyes, I will cast a spell that makes us able to see well underwater.'

WOW. That was the only word that came to Gellert's mind when they resurfaced. That was magic in its purest form, he had become fascinated – drunk – with the wonders of the magical bay.

THERE, in the other timeline, Ludwiga had not shown him all that… She was already too sick to swim, as far as he could recall.

'Fantastic, yes' he honestly agreed with Abi, who couldn't control his enthusiasm and jabbered to no end 'If I ever become an Animagus, I would love to be a fish.'

He wasn`t sure anymore whether he had ever learnt that trick THERE. Maybe. Maybe not, the memories were already fading.

'No, you would be a Persian cat' replied Abi in a sure tone 'Or a husky dog.'

'But why?' laughed Gellert. A Persian cat?

'Because of your white hair and crazy eyes…' Aberforth stopped, turning red 'Sorry, I didn't mean… Mum said I shouldn't say that… about your eyes.'

'Heterochromia iridis' explained Gellert, sounding a bit like Albus 'Mismatched eyes, in plain English. My great-grandmother Joyce is also like that. But it's no secret! You can talk about it. Everyone sees it anyhow.'

'But… Albus said you had crazy eyes and Mum went nuts. She said it was rude of him to say that… But it's so… strange.'

Well, it was. At first, with Ariana howling and Aurors rampaging the kitchen, no one had paid attention to his looks; yet, his extreme heterochromy, when one eye was pale blue and the other brown like bitter chocolate, was striking. No wonder Albus talked about it. He should have seen the great-grandma Joyce, with her dark skin contrasting with her left blue eye… That scared the wits out of most people.

But 'crazy eyes'? Once upon a time he would look deep into those eyes and consider them the eighth wonder of the world.

'Your great-grandma is the best' stated Aberforth the next day, at breakfast.

'That is true' smiled Gellert.

'She promised to teach me all she knows about the animals!'

Good there was a hundred years of difference between them, otherwise they would walk down the aisle together and give their children dragon eggs for Christmas…

'Lert' continued Aberborth with the seriousness of a child 'Let's be friends, shall we?'

'But we are already, aren't we?'

'Sure, but I mean… Magically. Albi said that you, on the Continent, swear an oath…'

Gellert froze. He remembered the words, as if he had spoken them yesterday.

_Marmor, Stein und Eisen bricht,_

_Aber unsere Liebe nicht,_

_Alles, alles, alles geht vorbei,_

_Doch wir sind uns treu;_

_Marmor, Stein und Eisen bricht,_

_Aber unsere Freundschaft nicht,_

_Alles, alles, alles geht vorbei,_

_Doch wir sind uns treu;_

_Marmor, Stein und Eisen bricht,_

_Aber unser Bündnis nicht,_

_Alles, alles, alles geht vorbei,_

_Doch wir sind uns treu..._

_Marble, stone and iron break,_

_But our love will never do._

_Everything comes to an end,_

_But we stay steadfast and true._

_Marble, stone and iron break,_

_But our friendship will never do._

_Everything comes to an end,_

_But we stay steadfast and true._

_Marble, stone and iron break,_

_But our pact will never do._

_Everything comes to an end,_

_But we stay steadfast and true._

.

Gellert clenched his teeth so hard that his jaw hurt. He had sworn, he had sworn! For a moment, the veil of oblivion was lifted and he saw it all again. He had sworn. Albus had sworn. And a stupid word was enough to destroy their friendship; the oath was worthless.

Maybe it was his destiny, his weird, to be a general. Maybe the stars meant them to be enemies, looking into each other's eyes from behind lifted wands. Maybe it was naïve to think he could ever be anything but a warlord.

And yet… They had sworn. And then… then this squibbish Tommy, this wimp, coward and traitor pointed the wand at his heart and, instead of killing him, ending him in a honorable way… Instead of offering him the death of a general, that joke of a wizard stood idly, seeing Gellert being dragged away to prison and locked up like a rabid animal.

Scheissverräter. Weichei. Schreibtischstratege. Fucking traitor. Wimp. Armchair strategist who had seen battles only in history books.

Schreibtischstratege. The friendship oath was not worth the oxygen one wasted to pronounce it.

'No' croaked Gellert 'No, Abi. Never, never ever swear that oath. To anyone. Never.'

The disappointment in Aberforth's eye broke Gellert's heart. He had fouled up yet another friendship.

.

Gellert gaped dully at the ceiling. He knew only too well that he had overreacted. Selber schuld, it was his own fault because he kept fighting against his progressing memory loss and let his previous life to overshadow the new one. He had known, before the temporal leap, that he would lose the conscious memories of his erased life. It had to be: one could not recall clearly what had never happened and never would. That life had been annihilated, removed, erased. Yet, he clung to it, recalling the faces, whispering the names. He was unable to let go of his sons, who were dead… and in this timeline non-existent.

He recalled his wife and his magic flared uncontrollably as his childish magical core could not cope with the memories and desires of a man.

He whispered the names of friends who had never heard about him in this timeline. Maybe they never would. His dear old Zunzun, for example, must be doing his Auror course at the moment… He had not become a chased renegade yet. And maybe he never would. And Constantin had not even been born yet.

Es reicht. Enough!

He had to let them go or else he would go mad. Still, he was unable to kill his memories; without his past… future… whatever it was… he didn't know who he was, he felt uprooted, helpless, alone. A human is a sum of his memories. When they disappear, the person is gone. Truly, the sacrifice for time travel was high. He had to die and survive agony to be reborn again. He had to burn like a phoenix and resurrect from the ashes and, by all gods of Asgard, it had hurt!

He couldn't live the life of Lert and the life of general Grindelwald. It was idiotic to bear a grudge against Albus for what had never happened. Still, the non-existent wound pulsed with pain and the memories struck back like a tank division; like the Spirit Division had in its prime.

The memory of 1945 flashed to the forefront of his mind, despite his resolution to stop thinking of the past. His leg ached with the phantom pain of his shattered femur, the reek of raw blood and meat... after all, what was he but meat and blood?

He remembered the dust, caked on his face, penetrating his lungs, cracking between his teeth, sticking to the inside of his eyelids. His body was quivering against blood loss, pain and cold. He would have given his wand arm for a gulp of water, yet there was just dust and soot in his mouth. Something heavy pressed him against the frozen ground. If he just could move and grasp his Luger gun… He would have given everything he possessed for a bullet between his eyes.

Everything had been lost, the war, Germany, the revolution, his family, his friends. The time of Ragnarök had come, the world was burning to ashes.

Ragnarök. And Gellert, a son of Loki, shouldn't have survived it.

Albus` eyes were so blue, so amazingly blue, the wand had trembled in his hand.

'Erbarme dich meiner, mein Bruder, töte mich. Du hast ja geschworen' whispered Gellert hoarsely 'Have mercy on me, my brother, kill me. You have sworn.'

Albus had not replied. He had lifted his wand and then lowered it again.

'Erbarme dich meiner, es tut so weh... Have mercy on me, it hurts so badly…'

He had repeated his plea, though every word hurt as if his throat was full of shattered glass. And that joke of a wizard was unable to pronounce the two simple words and end it all for good. If only Gellert could have grasped his wand or gun, he would have killed first Dumbledore and then himself, dying a general`s death. Honourably, courageously, welcoming death like a friend, shouting out `Valhalla, I am coming.`

Yet, Dumbledore kept his mouth shut, being too posh and prim to soil his hands with blood. Oh, Albi, little goodie two shoes. Albi the wimp. Or maybe he thought Gellert could be saved? Could be redeemed by his imprisonment?

Dumbledore was so gullible. A general may change his mind, reject the official ideology, burn the orders of his superior in the fireplace. He may turn traitor. He may, luger in one hand, wand in another, face the one he had once served and send him to Hela.

He may, by all kids of Loki, ask for forgiveness for the spilled blood the old way, kneeling in the middle of a cathedral. Ask sincerely and of his own volition. He may pay the Blood Debt, like the wizards had done in the past.

Yet, the heart of the general will beat in his chest till the end of his life. There is no return to innocence.

`Lass mich gehen, Bruder, bitte. Hab Gnade mit mir.' he had whispered, `Let me go, brother, please. Show me mercy.`

Still, Albus had done nothing. He could have at least let Gellert bleed to death but he didn't have the guts even for that. Why? Hadn't he seen that Gellert had already lost everything? Hadn't he realised how painful it was?

Albus had had no children… either alive or rotting in their graves. He had not lost his country. He had not seen his dreams shattered. How could he understand such a loss? Yet, by Hela, he could have at least handed Gellert a cup of water, was it too much to expect?

Yet he knew, Albus was no sadist. He was probably just too busy philosophising about right and wrong to think about something as mundane as water.

What could he understand of war, anyhow? Schreibtischstratege. He was busy pranking his schoolmates when Gellert had been writing the first chapter of the thick volume titled „Crimes of Grindelwald".

That was a book of many pages, far too many. Yet, he had to admit that his first murder – bloody, clumsy, taking ages – he would commit again. He would have gotten rid of Felix Edmundovich again.

Oh, forget Bloody Felix, he reminded himself again. Yet still he couldn`t stop brooding over that unlived life… Poor, sensitive Albi who should have spent all his life teaching Transfiguration in the times of peace and harmony. He was a man who did not fit to his Weird. He was so brittle, broken, lost. He was no Gellert who had nothing that could be broken but bones. And it was Gellert`s fault that Abli had been broken. It was Gellert who had told lies from the very beginning.

Another memory emerged from the depths of his mind, sharp and vivid, like the figures of Caravaggio. Gellert took a deep breath. It was time to see the first time he turned criminal again. And then to forget that day forever.

.

_Marmor, Stein und Eisen bricht,__  
__Aber unsere Liebe nicht,__  
__Alles, alles, alles geht vorbei,__  
__Doch wir sind uns treu;_

_Marmor, Stein und Eisen bricht,__  
__Aber unsere Freundschaft nicht,__  
__Alles, alles, alles geht vorbei,__  
__Doch wir sind uns treu;_

_Marmor, Stein und Eisen bricht,__  
__Aber unser Bündnis nicht,__  
__Alles, alles, alles geht vorbei,__  
__Doch wir sind uns treu..._

_So, a few words of explanation_

Indeed, in Munich political meetings were often held in pubs and speakers stood on huge barrels to be seen and heard. And so did Hitler, in the beginning.

Märchenkönig, the Fairy Tale King, Ludwig II, the constructor of the Neuschwanstein Castle, indeed was found dead in a lake (though it is not sure whether he was shot). The case has never been fully clarified and stinks fishy. The church and the crypt also exist and you can visit them.

Electrum is a mix of gold and silver.

_`Marmor, Stein und Eisen bricht` is a song of Drafi Deutscher. __The first strophe is the original; the other two are my modification._

_The guy named Felix, mentioned by Grindelwald, is based on_** Felix Edmundovich Dzerzhinsky**_, the boss of Cheka, the Bolshevik political police. We call him simply the Bloody Felix or the most evil Pole of all times._

__`Schreibtischstratege`, the `desk strategist` is a derogatory term for an officer who has no or little battlefield experience but shows off with his expertise (or for anyone with just theoretical knowledge of a subject but no real world experience, bossing everyone around).


	6. Chapter 6

**The frozen heart**

.

`So?` Charlotta leaned out of the fireplace.

`The sleipnirs and the ravens have accepted Gellert,` replied Ludwiga, `So he is not subject to any enslavement or mind-control curse.`

`Nor is he an impostor using a shape-shifting potion` said Charlotta slowly `Otherwise your wolves would have ripped him apart.`

`So was it really a dream?`

`Perhaps,` replied Charlotta `Maybe he just had a dream… But the curves of the magographs are intriguing. I'll have to visit Joyce and discuss them with her. `

`She has no idea about magical theory - she has never received any regular education` pointed out Ludwiga.

`Which does not mean that she's ignorant,' retorted Charlotta.

`I didn't say that. But…`

'Oh, Ludwiga' sighed Charlotta `I just will smoke my cigar and solve a few integrals; she will puff her shisha once or twice… As you know, every approach has its weak points, so it is safer and more accurate to use several different techniques together.'

`I know` retorted Ludwiga `Yet introducing Joyce the Jaguar into such a sensitive matter…`

`We are all Gellert's great-grandmothers, none of us would ever hurt him. I know Joyce's past is not… exemplary but she's neither a fool nor a homicidal maniac.`

Ludwiga sighed. She treated both Elisabeth and Joyce with limited trust; they were both old war thestrals, well capable of murder and treason. No, definitely they might not plan to hurt Gellert (without a particularly good reason, at least…) But using him for their own political ends was another story.

.

Charlotta rubbed her temples and sighed, staring at the intertwined lines of magical forces. She felt tempted to simplify the equations, instead of calculating yet another four-dimensional integral…

`Charlotta' she scolded herself aloud 'No cutting corners.'

Whatever Gellert had done, it had to be analysed thoroughly. It was her deep knowledge of Arithmancy and Numerology that had prompted Ludwiga to entrust her with the task; yet Charlotta knew that it was not enough to deliver graphs and numbers. The ultimate question of all the questions was: once the facts were established, what should be done? And it was far easier to crunch numbers than to decide what was the most reasonable thing to do… and what was the most RIGHT thing to do. Well, often the reasonable and the right way differed. She sighed again. Gellert had not flown to Scotland by lucky chance. He had planned it, she was positive. In the Muggle world, lots happened by pure change, yet for magical beings, such coincidences did not exist; there must have been a reason, a well-hidden magical reason behind his allegedly whimsical, haphazard ride. It seemed the boy had made a temporal leap and he had not turned the clock an hour or so back. It looked more like a… century. She shook her head in disbelief. Even if he had had access to a Time-Turner (and at the moment only a few prototype versions existed, none of them in reach of a curious nine-year-old), he would have managed an hour, at most two. There was a way to time-travel across long time spans, yet…

Yet the only witch with an inkling of how to do it was Charlotta herself. However, all she had was a sketch of the Magical Time Theory, no details were worked out yet. But… But in the coming century, magoscience could make substantial progress regarding temporal magic. In a hundred years, the theory could be developed enough to be put into practice. Charlotta would love to feed Gellert Veritaserum to learn more but feared it would be in vain: even from her initial research, she had known that any deformation of time engendered the deformation of the magical core, which in turn destabilised the memory network. One could not remember a future that had not happened and would never happen. A temporal leap of that length must have shredded Gellert's memory to sawdust. And perhaps it could have had other side effects, no powerful magic was for free.

As her late husband Siegmar would have said: 'Wo ist der Thestralfuss?' Where is the catch? There must be a price for the freedom to write your life anew. She had to find out what could backfire, as the price could be high for both Gellert and for others. She was positive Gellert wouldn't have bothered to dwell on this aspect of the theory; makers and shifters tended to disregard the risks, they moved fast and broke things.

Still, the more interesting and important question was: why make the leap at all? According to her calculations, even an old, powerful wizard would have to accumulate his power for centuries to create the Tesseract. Obviously, Gellert had found the catalyst of the process; still, creation of the tesseract meant living for years without magic, in secret and solitude; it was impossible to accumulate power that fast any other way. Why should anyone waste his lifetime toiling for an elusive goal? What was the thing he wanted back so badly? Or who was it? His beloved wife? His only granddaughter? Or was he a mad politician, chasing a utopia, dreaming of rewriting the history books? Or maybe a desperate Auror general, ready to sacrifice all he had, his lifetime and memory for… for whatever was lost?

Someone tried to kill him since, which suggested there was a political reason behind the temporal leap. The killer could have used the wave of space-time created by Gellert to follow him, without having to create the Tesseract again. Still, according to the equations, it would have been even trickier than Gellert's time travel because the following implosion of magical reality would have taken the follower`s memory and probably also his life; he would have had at best a few hours to fulfil his task… And yet somehow he had attempted it and it had been a close shave.

Charlotta wondered why it was such a young man who had tried to stop Gellert; why no one with more experience had decided to ride the wave of time. Yet, there was no answer to this question; few witches and even fewer wizards were talented in temporal magic and their power was often misunderstood and feared even by their families. Maybe…Maybe he had a master, a more powerful wizard, who sent him back in time. Well, there was not enough data to say anything conclusive. One thing only was beyond doubt: Gellert must have been an obstacle for somebody, a huge, unsurmountable one.

Still, it was impossible to tell whether it was better to support Gellert or his opponents. Gellert could have become a homicidal maniac or a freedom fighter. Or both.

No.

A mad dictator would not lock himself up somewhere in a cave in Himalaya or a hut in Siberia to study Arithmancy and Numerology and accumulate power for decades. Tyrants quickly lose both their hearts and minds, believing in their own vision until the end, be that victory or death. They are unable to take a step back, acknowledge their errors and starting from scratch. A dictator would not sacrifice their power to chase the futile Tesseract. But a belligerent, ruthless, stubborn, desperate, broken general could. Still, it did not imply that he was a flawless hero.

Take Joyce Freeman, for example. She was a great general, not only brave and cunning but also wise and ready for sacrifice. She had fought for the greater good, for her people, their freedom and dignity, not for her own profit or futile fame. Even old Johnson, whom Charlotta had served in her youth, himself an experienced general, had been impressed by Joyce's courage and attitude. Yet Joyce the Jaguar was a murderer. A robber. A sadistic avenger. She had dabbled in cruel, disgusting, savage magic. Any magical or Muggle judge would have sent her on the gallows.

Then take Elisabeth Batory. She was a freedom fighter and a brutal occupant, she sentenced people to cruel deaths and showed amazing magnanimity, she was a puppet master and a leader ready to suffer and die for her supporters.

Well, in a nutshell, they were nothing but humans wielding too much power, and Gellert was seemingly cut from the same cloth.

Thus, Charlotta wasn't sure whether Gellert was a danger or a blessing for the wizarding world; there was no clear cut between the two anyhow. Still, deep inside, she preferred a general who, in his Svabian doggedness, had turned space-time inside out to a man who had shot a nine-year-old in the back for crimes that had not yet been committed. And if the attacker had a master who had ordered the kill, that master was someone Charlotta despised deeply. Ordering a teen to murder a kid, that was worse than low.

In a nutshell, Charlotta had hardly anything but murky speculations and opinions to deliver. How right the poet was, she mused.

_Habe nun, ach! __Philosophie,__  
__Juristerei und Medizin,__  
__Und leider auch Theologie__  
__Durchaus studiert, mit heißem Bemühn.__  
__Da steh ich nun, ich armer Tor!__  
__Und bin so klug als wie zuvor;__  
__Heiße Magister, heiße Doktor gar__  
__Und ziehe schon an die zehen Jahr__  
__Herauf, herab und quer und krumm__  
__Meine Schüler an der Nase herum –__  
__Und sehe, daß wir nichts wissen können!_

_I've studied now Philosophy__  
__And Jurisprudence, Medicine,__  
__And even, alas! Theology__  
__All through and through with ardour keen!__  
__Here now I stand, poor fool, and see__  
__I'm just as wise as formerly.__  
__Am called a Master, even Doctor too,__  
__And now I've nearly ten years through__  
__Pulled my students by their noses to and fro__  
__And up and down, across, about,__  
__And see, there's nothing we can know!_

_._

Thus Charlotta had to discuss the matter with Joyce the Jaguar, hoping that said Jaguar lay fast asleep. Still, it was reasonable not to talk to unpredictable Freeman alone. Therefore Charlotta asked Elisabeth to join her; Batory, being a general herself, understood Joyce far better and would surely step in should the discussion get out of control.

'I will pick you up tomorrow at five. The journey will take some time as I would prefer not to have to make a transatlantic Portkey. You know, it would only get us as far as New York and you know MACUSA is sensitive about me. Not to mention their attitude to Dixie and Joyce… I cannot land on Manhattan… at least not without five divisions she smiled, baring her teeth.

.

Sure, the very mention of Freeman and Batory in the same sentence would make the MACUSA officials froth with fury. What could enrage them more than Joyce, a Black Muggleborn, a slave to boot, openly disregarding the Secrecy Statue and the Rappaport Laws? They called her the general of hillbillies, redskins, niggers, whores, savages and white trash – till the journalist who started the shitstorm against her ended up… Well, that was not a detail Charlotta really wanted to remember.

Who could enrage them more? Maybe Batory, who had enthusiastically supported the 'oppressed brothers and sisters of the South' and brutally taught the MACUSA generals a lesson.

Charlotta snorted. Definitely, the person who would infuriate MACUSA the most was General Johnson, a WASP, boasting a family tree full of celebrities; educated, eloquent, well-mannered. Who, by the way, had been paid by MACUSA to get rid of Joyce… but, in the end, joined forces with her. Finally, MACUSA had to cede a part of its territory to Joyce's Freedom Fighters where Magical Dixie was created; and grateful Dixie always supported Batory, even during the time of Dracula. No wonder Elisabeth didn't want to show up in New York.

Magical North America was as unstable as a barrel full of erumpent horn powder. Though the conquest of the continent by European Muggles did not shake up the American wizard population directly – most wizards lived in relative isolation from the non-magical society and were capable of defending themselves from Muggle invaders – yet, it had induced, in the long term, a gigantic demographic change. And said change shattered the old wizarding order: in a few generations, the population of Muggleborns of European, Asian and African origin exploded, while the number of native Muggleborns crashed. Presently, it was estimated that three out of four American wizards and witches were not "purely native" and, to boot, had at most two generations of magical ancestors. That was a cultural and social shock the magical world had never encountered before; the old borders crumbled, and the new order had not been yet established. MACUSA, strictly isolationist and mostly white, clashed with belligerent equality movements, brutal migrant-haters, hardcore, nearly feudalistic pureblood supremacists of European roots, racists of Muggle origin… and so on, and so forth.

.

The witches left early next morning; Elisabeth, visibly tired, wrapped herself in her cloak and dozed off. Yet, she did not get to rest for long; a roll of parchment, stuck between the seats, blinked, hovered in the air and unrolled, showing a map. The old general cocked her head, took her wand without a word and ran it across the parchment with swift, sure movements.

'What is it?' intrigued, Charlotta stooped over the map.

'Our route' explained Elisabeth 'Due to the risk of imminent dragon attacks over Cuba, we'll have to modify it a bit…'

Said route, to be honest, resembled a zigzag drawn by a particularly clumsy toddler.

'Couldn't we take a shortcut through Metz, Elisabeth?'

'Not today' barked Batory 'It's the anniversary of some… unpleasant events. I was not involved and had not been badly wounded at the time, I would have never allowed…' she shook her head with disgust 'Still, I don't want to be seen there today.'

'And through Brittany?'

'What?' spat Batory 'Have you forgotten the Finistère battle already? They have not, I assure you. Neither mine nor your… activities during said battle are forgotten.'

'It was not really my choice.'

'I know, I made you.'

'And they made you' sighed Charlotta 'As far as I can recall you didn't want to fight.'

'But I did' growled Elisabeth 'And they still remember it.'

'For the greater good of us all, you had to…'

'Oh, Halt Maul! Shut up.' growled Batory in German `Don`t justify your actions, it just makes you look guilty. What is done, is done. Period.`

Charlotta quickly became worried. Elisabeth was visibly agitated and annoyed; what was gnawing on her nerves so badly? She was used to mental pressure and inhuman working hours. Maybe she knew something about Gellert that she didn't want to share?

'Well, it was long ago' Charlotta tried to calm her down 'Maybe it's time to make peace…'

'Peace? How boring… I can conquer Brest in one night, I just need a division… but two would be better' snapped Batory.

'Batory, I mean it.'

'Lovelace-Grindelwald, I also mean it' barked Elisabeth 'As you Brits say, don't tickle a sleeping dragon. We have killed Dracula, peace has returned, simple. And if that peace is brittle, it is not my fault this time. I know far more than you do, far more that I have ever said; it was nothing but treason, crime, lies, self-interest, robbery, idiocy, hubris. To put it short, filthy squibbery. A few sentences of mine, spoken in public, and a new war breaks out. And, by the way, Dracula was not guilty of all those crimes. Not he alone. Such people always have a following of cronies, of yes-men, the lowest creatures you can imagine, who just incite them to crime. And when the ball is over and music is done, each and every squib swears he had no idea about anything, he couldn't say no to the tyrant and just followed orders. Squibs!' she snorted indignantly.

'Oh, by the way' she added 'If the respectable Aurors had not overused Crucio and Legillimens on Mirko, when he was a teen, he would never have gone mad!'

'Mirko?' whispered Charlotta.

`Yes, Mirko was his name` hissed Elisabeth. `At least, he said so. And let me sleep, will you!` she wrapped the cloak tight around herself and stubbornly pushed her pointed hat down over her face.

Mirko. Who else would dare to refer to Dracula by his first name? Well, Elisabeth visibly bore a grudge against the man, and had good reason to do so. She also openly condemned his crimes without attempting to whitewash her own name, yet… Maybe she felt less dislike to him that she publically showed. Mirko. How could Elisabeth call that beast… Well, after years of calling him by his first name, maybe it would be strange to do otherwise.

Charlotta watched her in silence. Batory was tall and still muscular; she strode with fast, long steps, thudding with her heavy boots like a sleipnir horse with its hooves. In her every gesture, in her every word, one could feel the imperturbable aplomb of an old, powerful general. Yet now, asleep, when the cloak hid her empty sleeve, when the scar across the lips looked just like a deep wrinkle, Batory looked so… gentle. As if she were just an old witch, dozing off in her carriage after a night long ball.

Never judge a wand by its wood. Elisabeth in her prime was Morrigan incarnate. It seemed that all Dracula had to do was to point his finger at a city, and she delivered it to him enthusiastically, like a mad hunting dog, chasing down whatever the hunter desired. At the beginning of Dracula's era they even called her "agár", the sighthound... Mile by mile, she conquered Europe for him, smiling proudly from the posters he had had distributed in all the conquered cities. She seemed inebriated with victory and glory, with battle frenzy and swooshing curses. And if Dracula's Guild had not fallen apart at the seams, she probably would have still been studying maps with him. She had never attempted to be the ruler, she would have stayed loyal to him... assuming he wouldn't have been defeated by now.

Yet, he had failed so she had killed him. No wonder; a falling dictator usually became unpredictable, whimsical, vindictive and paranoid; thus an imminent danger for his close supporters. Sooner or later he would blame his surroundings for his own errors and punish with no mercy; so the generals who wanted to survive had to strike first. Thus, failing and falling Dark Lords usually were murdered by their own generals. The very same generals who owned their power and fame to them. Moreover, the experienced warriors realised when their fight was lost and that they would be the ones to pay for the failure. It would be them who died in a senseless battle; it would be them who were lynched by the furious crowd. Their army would be decimated, their land ruined. Unless…

Unless they brought the head of the tyrant to the vindictive mob charging their defence lines. And if they survived the putsch and the frenzy of the weeks following, they, as a rule, got off with a slap on the wrist. After all, it was them who had killed the monster, risking savage torture and the slow death of their families and friends. They were, in the end, just brave Aurors misled by the mendacious, evil wizard, weren't they? And, as the crowds were satisfied with the death of the tyrant and politicians wanted to use the experience of the old warriors, counting on their gratitude, the generals were treated with lenience. After all, no one sane would break a goblin-made sword just because it used to belong to the enemy, right?

In the end, it was said that the generals were just duty-conscious, courageous Aurors, and for all their 'errors and deviations' the dead Dark Lord was to blame. To improve the public morale, a few of his most fanatical supporters were punished, and the political world could return to business as usual. Meanwhile, the duty-conscious Aurors holed up in their mansions, spent a few years writing their memories down and cuddling the grandchildren… and then returned, clad in new uniforms and bowing to the new standard. Well, sometimes they simply tossed one uniform off and quickly put on another one – and the ball continued.

Could Gellert have been someone like that?

.

Meanwhile, Gellert delved into the past. How could he expect Albus to respect their oath when he had not known to whom he had sworn it? How could it have ended well when it was never sincere? Lüge ist die erste Staffel zum Galgen, as the Muggles said, a lie is the first step on the gallows ladder… If Albus had known why Gellert had turned up in Scotland, he would have slammed the door shut in Grindelwald's face. He knew Gellert had been expelled from school but never asked about the details. And it started as a student's prank, meaning no real harm to anyone. Well, history stated that the 'careers' of dark wizards rarely started with a world war; a prank, an accident, an argument often sufficed to push a teen onto the path of crime. He sighed and recalled the memory. _He had just turned fifteen. He roamed Durmstrang's endless corridors with a group of friends, chattering about politics and dreaming of a splendid career. No one considered it strange or worrying – after all, Gellert was the offspring of politicians; it was just to be expected that he wished to follow in their footsteps. He had no political agenda yet, simply repeating what he had heard from others, dreaming of a better world. That was also nothing unusual for a teen. Still, the Headmistress was not amused when he had burnt Egyptian and ancient German symbols on the walls – and she had had a good reason to be angry, Gellert had to admit that. The political situation had been volatile and the Ministries had been sniffing around, looking for anarchists, dissidents, warlocks and Munin alone knew who else. The stupid, harmless actions of a kid could ruin his career and bring him into serious trouble. As Durmstrang enjoyed a wide-reaching immunity, the students were safe; but outside, Moscow stretched its claws, ready to capture any troublemaker. It was not good time to butt into politics with a boom and a bang._

_But on the day that had changed his life forever no one had been discussing any dangerous topics. The wind was howling madly, a blizzard thudding against the windows. The house-elves had been working day and night, freeing the roof and the courtyards of snow._

_Raisa had bound her red hair tightly with a ribbon._

_`Let's go for a fly` she proposed, bored with sitting inside._

_Gellert shook his head._

_`Sissi, the weather…`_

_`You European` she mocked `A few snowflakes makes you moan like a squib.`_

_`Gelli, don`t be a Muggle` said Yefim, Raisa's younger brother. `I just got that new broomstick for my birthday, let`s test it!`_

_`OK, Fima` agreed Gellert, following Sissi's ideas, because she was the oldest of the group, `But if the Headmistress catches us, don`t complain to me.`_

_It was so cold that without protective charms, they would have been frozen solid in five minutes. The wind tossed them violently, the snow reduced the visibility but Raisa was laughing. _

_`Buran!` she called `Buran!`_

_The snowflakes whirled and danced; the snowy horse appeared out of nowhere, chased them, dived, leaped high into the sky and fell, crashing into a million snowflakes and then reappearing. Raisa was laughing loud._

_They had not noticed how far from the castle they had flown when Buran reared, and neighed in panic;_ _Sissi was the first to realise what had terrified the horse._

_`Moroz Ivaniwich!` she screamed `To the castle, NOW!`_

_They had been warned many times to stay within the ring of trees protecting the castle and to stay indoors during snowstorms. Just getting lost in such conditions was deadly, let alone facing the hungry and infuriated Moroz. _

_Gellert rode better broomsticks models later in his life and a few times he flew for his life; yet he would bet his wand arm that on that day he established his lifetime speed record. The Buran horse stayed behind, shielding them from the monster, yet it was not powerful enough to chase it away; it could only slow Moroz down._

_The snow covered Gellert's face, nearly blinding him, it blocked his mouth and nose, making it difficult to breath; yet somehow he dodged the icy flashes thrown by Moroz and finally crossed the tree line into safety. Oh, by Hela, he had thought that they were safe; that they would return to the castle, take off their stiff-frozen clothes, gulp down a gallon of hot tea with raspberry juice and the next day the escape would be just another adventure to laugh about when sitting around the fireplace. Yet, Fima dived awkwardly and more crashed than landed. Thankfully the snow was deep and cushioned his fall._

_'He got me' he moaned pressing his hands against his chest 'I can't…'_

_Raisa grabbed her wand and cast warming spells, to no avail._

_'To the castle' whispered a terrified Gellert._

_Fima's eyes looked glassy, as if frozen. Raisa used another spell; Fima jerked violently._

_'What are you…' asked Gellert._

_'His heart!' screamed Raisa in panic 'It will stop if…'_

_'To the castle, then!'_

_Raisa repeated the spell, yet her brother just grew paler._

_'We cannot… There's no time…' she whispered, visibly shocked 'Gelli' she looked straight at him 'I heard that your grandmother… This Rusalka, the Batory general… They say she could revive the fallen… Gelli, please.'_

_Gellert stared at her in disbelief. Sure, his great-grandmother Elisabeth had been a powerful witch, and, like most warriors, practiced in medimagic, both with a wand and wandless. Yet bringing the dead back? Even if she had known how, she would have not taught this skill to him! Not even the legendary Morgana and Loki had studied necromancy in their teens!_

_'But Sissi…'_

_'Gelli, please…'_

_'She was a general, not a goddess of war!' he screamed 'No one can help the dead!'_

_Yefim thrashed in the snow so badly that his arm broke with a loud crack. Gellert felt sick._

_Fima was not dead, just dying. And Elisabeth had known things that even in Durmstrang were taboo, magic that would send them straight to prison. She would have… But she had been a general! She had feared nothing. She could resist any hardship. She had been the great Batory…_

_'Gelli…' moaned Fima._

_Gellert clenched his teeth. The great Batory had lost her arm when she was fourteen; a few months later she had been tortured. If she could have resisted that, why should he be afraid of just prison?_

_But he was. Russian prison was no hotel room. Oh, scheiss drauf, bugger this. His family would not let him rot in there for long._

_._

_And that was the false assumption that had triggered his criminal career, he mused__._He had not yet realised at that time that the influence of his family had been declining. With all his great-grandparents dead – by Loki, it took just a few years to lose them all, he will not let that happen in his new life - not one of his relatives managed to maintain the clan's political influence and their power was crumbling. There was no one capable of freeing him from the clutches of the Russian Ministry. Yet, he knew he would have saved Fima again, koste es was es wolle, at whatever cost and risk.

_._

_'There is a way' he whispered 'For the dying… She showed me… A chain ritual. But they will throw us to prison for that, Sissy.'_

_'He's my brother' she growled 'Tell me what to do.'_

_He swallowed. No, he could not hurt Sissi, no way!_

_'No, we can't…'_

_'Yes, we can!' she pressed the tip of her wand against his throat 'Do it! You are a wizard, not a dirty Muggle!'_

_'It's… technically easy' he whispered 'But you have to agree that I do to you… what has to be done. And you don't want that.'_

_'Well, your Gran did it to you and you are alive. So do it with me, it cannot be that bad.'_

_Gellert shook his head._

_'You are the master of the ritual, do it!' she insisted 'I agree to everything!'_

_'It's old dark arts…'_

_'I assume so. Do it already.'_

_Gellert slapped her hard in the face. And then again and again. It had to hurt. He had to force himself to make it bad, even if his spirit was screaming in protest._

_._

_It seemed to him like an eternity, but, __finally, it came to an end. He scooped a handful of snow, wiping sweat, blood and tears off her face._

'_Sissi' he whispered 'I didn't… want… it.'_

'_Continue' she croaked._

_So he pinned Fima to the ground with all his weight – it wasn't easy as the Russian tossed and writhed in pain – and pressed the filthy snow against Fima's blue lips, hoping, praying that it would work. _

_It did. Slowly, the cramps ceased and Fima's breathing normalised._

'_It worked! Gelli, you are great!' smiled Sissi._

_Gellert sat in silence, head down._

'_Oh, it wasn't that bad' she said 'I'll be fine.'_

'_Shut up' retorted Gellert 'Just shut up!' _

_Raisa sighed 'So it's a chain ritual, you said? Batory taught you, you taught me… And now I can perform it, if…'_

_'Yes, my great-grandmother Elisabeth did it to me… with me. And I did it to you. And now you are a master of the ritual and can conduct it. And so the chain continues, link by link, since the Upper Paleolite.'_

_'She… Batory…'_

_'It was not that bad. I was just twelve. She didn't press too hard' shrugged Gellert._

'_She should have chosen somebody else.'_

'_She had no choice. There was no one else.'_

_Raisa swore rudely, surprising Gellert._

'_All her life she had no choice… Batory, I mean' she sneered._

'_There was no one else. And don't you dare judge her. You don't know… She didn't want…' he shook his head, looking for words but how could he explain a lifetime of Elisabeth in a few words? 'Don't you dare judge her or I will curse you.`_

'_She killed him, didn't she?' inquired Raisa._

'_Whom?'_

'_They say it was Batory who blew uncle Vlad's train in the air.'_

_'Maybe. She never admitted to assassinating Dracula. She condemned his crimes and she had reasons for revenge… She lost a few friends because of him… And her honour…'_

_And Gellert had also just lost his. How could he… How could he hurt Raisa like that!?_

_'Sissi' he moaned 'I didn't want… I swear, I didn't want that!'_

_'Oh, stop it, I will be fine. Nothing happened.'_

_'Nothing? They should lock me up and throw the key to the sea. I never…'_

_He was kneeling in the snow, crying, howling, begging… Till Raisa shook him hard._

_'Are you a wizard, or a Muggle?' she snapped 'Stop it, we have to take Fima to the castle.'_

_And they did. They also had to tell the whole story, so that the healers would know what to do._

_The Headmistress, Ruslana Nikitichna, listened to their explanations, turning paler and paler. They were lucky she didn't curse them to the Moon and back._

_'You spawn of Freeman and Batory, the war criminals…' she hissed._

_The Jaguar, still asleep, snapped its teeth. Gellert felt its presence, not understanding yet what was stirring awake in his soul._

_'I am a Freeman, a Batory, a Romanoff, a Wittelsbach, a Grindelwald, a Lovelace' he hissed 'And you would not dare fight any of them face to face, madam.'_

_She hit him hard with a hex. Her samovar broke in two with a bang, though Gellert didn't touch his wand, he didn't even think about any spell._

_The Jaguar growled angrily, its eyes still closed._

The _Headmistress, shocked, still acted by the book. Healers were flooed in for Yefim and the underage criminals were locked up in the dungeons. Then, with no delay, the Aurors were called._

_The Headmistress rarely gave harsh punishments and often looked the other way when students experimented or expressed problematic opinions. Yet, an ancient war ritual, cruel and bloody, the magic Dracula had loved, was a crime that could not be swept under the carpet. Particularly given that Gellert was the offspring of Dracula's top general who had never been tried for her crimes and who had been a habitual putschist and renegade. Not to mention that Gellert was also the offspring of a slave rebel who in her youth had run amok, hunting her victims down in her jaguar form, went on cursing sprees, dabbled in blood magic – and had never been tried for that either._

_No, Gellert Grindelwald could not learn that he could get away with violence, Headmistress Ruslana Nikitichna would not allow it._

_The barred door snapped shout with a loud bang. The 50 years old general Grindelwald would have just shrugged and smiled with mild disdain; the 15 years old Gellert was shaking._

_The Jaguar, tossed on the ground, still half asleep; its eyes were still unfocused and bleary, yet the claws already scratched the ground._

_In a hundred days, Gellert would kill the Bloody Felix with his bare hands; then shoot a man who tried to Imperius him; then curse the head off an Auror. And then, he would illegally portkey to Scotland, and knock at the door of Auntie Bathlida._

.

.

**So, some background information**

'**Wo ist der Thestralfuss?' (Where is the hoof of a thestral?) is, in real German, 'Wo ist der Pferdefuss', i.e. 'where is the horse hoof / club foot'. It was believed that the devil, when he takes the shape of a human, fails to shape-shift completely, and still a horse hoof instead of one of his feet – and he did his best to keep it hidden. In other versions, he was always somehow handicapped, for example he had a clubbed foot. Thus the 'Pferdefussis a symbol of an unpleasant but hidden part of something, usually a deal.**

**Finistère, 'the end of the world' is a region in Brittany, France.**

'**Errors and deviations' are stolen from comrade Nikita Khrushchev, who referred to Stalin times. In short, he wanted to say that communism is OK, but there were some 'errors and deviations' in its implementations. Thus instead of questioning the system, he pushed the blame for its crimes on a few individuals.**

'**Here now I stand, poor fool, and see****  
****I'm just as wise as formerly' comes from Goethe's 'Faust'.**

'**Buran' means 'snowstorm' so a 'blizzard horse'**

_**Ruslana Nikitichna , i.e. Ruslana, daughter of Nikita (Nikita is a MALE name!): In Russian, the polite for of addressing someone is: first name + son of / daughter of + father's name. The family name is not used. Thus a Russian would call Grindelwald 'Gellert Lokich', i.e. Gellert, son of Loki, and Gellert mentioned Felix Edmundovich in the previous chapter.**_**.**

**Moroz Ivanovich (lit. Frost, son on John) is one of the numerous personifications of the Russian winter; and he was not a nice person, to put it mildly. As you can see, he was also referred to with politeness so that he didn't get angry.**

**Raisa/Sissi, Yefim/Fima: Raisa and Yefim are normal Russian names. However, no kid would use them when talking to friends in Russian. Rather, diminutive forms are used all the time (it's called ****hypocorism****); Yefim/Fima is a real pair; 'Sissi' is taken from southern German speakers (and in reality is a diminutive of Elisabeth).**


	7. Chapter 7

10

**Chapter seven, in which Grindelwald broods over the past**

_Ordnung muss sein,_ order is a must! Any respectable general kept the order first and foremost within his own head. As his memory was full of rubble, old papers, dust and spider webs, he had to sweep it clean before he could do anything else.

He hugged his wife for the very last time, breathing in deeply the smell of her hair, and ignoring the jolt of his childish core.

'_Sissi, leb wohl_, farewell,' he whispered. 'You deserve an emperor, not a warlord. Marry a normal wizard, not a homicidal maniac.'

Well, they would never meet, probably. He would attend Neuschwanstein, not Durmstrang. They would never encounter Moroz Ivanowich and never end up in Moscow prison.

Yet, he had a feeling that their Weird was still interwoven. Somehow. And that her blood would flow.

He shook his head. No. Stop. It was not even set yet whether he would learn that chain ritual in the first place. And maybe, if his great-grandmothers lived longer, they would rein him in, and he would never be a bandit. Maybe. Maybe the new Gellert could assure a better life for his wife, whoever she would be. Yes, he would! He would.

Raisa's face faded and disappeared. Forever.

Yet, for a moment, he thought he caught a glimpse of her, in an Auror uniform. No, that could not be, Raisa never wanted to be an Auroress. He couldn't trust his mind, floating between two realities.

He took a deep breath to calm down, but another vision hit him: his future wife. He had never met her but had a feeling that she would be the mother of his first-born. Yet, it couldn't be true: the woman was dirty, barefoot and haggard, wearing threadbare clothes. No, he would never touch a filthy, beggar Muggle. No. It must have been an error, an aberration created by his mind, overloaded with two lives.

He sighed, trying to concentrate. So, he would not attend Durmstrang and never break out of that hellish prison. He would never hide in Scotland, where the law did not allow for extradition to Russia and where the gullible Auntie Bathlida did not ask too many questions. Where no one was interested in anything happening outside of the United Kingdom, making it a perfect place to hide. The prison breakout that shook the Russian wizarding society was probably mentioned shortly somewhere between Quidditch news on the thirteenth page of 'The Daily Prophet'…

Oh, Fenris' fangs, those people were so… narrow-minded, as if the world ended at the English Channel.

Albus also did not ask questions, though he poured his heart to Gellert who he had hardly known, while Grindelwald had stayed economical with the truth. Dumbledore, young, naïve and terribly alone, seemed not to have noticed the secretiveness of his friend. Well, Gellert had already been an inveterate liar. Moreover, he would have rather come back to his cell than admit the truth. Albus' father had died in prison, this Gellert had learnt the first day in Scotland, eavesdropping Auntie Bathlida and her friends. The family had been told he had died of thestral flu. That was plausible, because the flying horses used the rocks of Azkaban as a resting ground, the illness was highly contagious and the cold, wet climate, lack of sunshine and hopelessness of that place weakened the prisoners. Yet, having heard what Gellert had experienced in prison, Albus could think that his father's death had… other reasons. And the stupid Gryffindork would set out to revenge him and would end in the same Azkaban cell. No, Gellert had to keep his mouth shut to protect his friend.

But he had failed. He just wanted to help but the road to hell was paved with good intentions.

Albus needed money to buy some calming potions for Ariana – and to keep her problem secret, he could not apply for a subsidy from the MoM. He could not even ask any legally operating Potions Master for help, as such strong elixirs could not be sold without a prescription from a Healer.

Thus, Albus had to turn to the black market and, with no one in the family generating income, the Dumbledore vault had just gotten empty when Gellert arrived.

Gellert, overwhelmed with Albus' trust, understanding and attention, would do a lot to maintain their bond. So, he gave Dumbledore some money; he had quite a lot, robbed from his second victim (no, not a victim, he corrected himself – the man had tried to put him under Imperius in the first place but underestimated Gellert's reflexes. And, well, _der Jäger wurde zum Gejagten_ \- the predator turned into prey).

Thus, Grindelwald's pockets were full of robbed gold and his cousins also had managed to send him some more – so he shared it with Albus without a second thought.

He had to admit he was also naïve. Dumbledore came home with the potions for Ariana, but he had also bought a vial or two for himself and added a pint of beer on top of it. He stumbled through the door, visibly stoned, and started babbling rubbish… and then fumbling and snogging. Not that Gellert had anything against fumbling, snogging and whatever else Albus would have liked to do with him; as they said in Lisbon, 'Life is short so start your lunch with a dessert'. He would not have said no; after months of hiding and running for his life, he craved anything pleasant.

Well, to be honest, what he needed was trust, safety and relaxation far more than pleasure. But if it came together with some fun, so much the better. Yet, Gellert had seen the vial of Albus' potion, sniffed it, and realised what a squibbed Poisons' Master from Knockturn had sold to Dumbledore. By Loki and his daughter, had Albus known what it was? If Dumbledore had swallowed that potion realising what he was doing, Gellert would already be unbuttoning his robes. Grindelwald was positive that his friend had no idea about the power and effects of the potion.

Gellert had inkling: in prison, he had met a Poisons' Master from Paris, Mordred, affectionately nicknamed 'la petite Mort', enthusiastically sharing his knowledge with other prisoners. As the nickname told, the man was a chemsex god, imprisoned for selling 'fun', though he could brew just about anything, even under primitive conditions and many a prisoner was saved by his knowledge. Gellert was among them.

La petite Mort, that goes without saying, was no enemy of alchemical fun, yet he had warned his co-prisoners of dangerous mixtures and checked whatever had been smuggled in; and for the stuff similar to what Dumbledore had taken, Mordred had had hit the smuggler in the face and poured the potion down the drain, swearing badly. As he explained later, the mixture required high quality ingredients, precise brewing and careful dosage – which the smuggler and his brewer obviously ignored.

Gellert would bet his wand arm that the brewer from Knockturn also did not give a damn about any safety measures; he could even see that the potion was contaminated, probably having been prepared in a filthy cauldron. About the dosage Gellert did not even think, it was clear that Dumbledore overdosed. The potion had kicked in – kicked his brain like an Abraxan.

Gellert had sworn to protect his friend and he would keep his word.

So, he pulled the incoherent Albus up the stairs to his bedroom, wrapped him with blankets and watched over him all night, fearing that his friend would suddenly forget to breathe. It would have been better to go to hospital straight away, but then the Aurors would have started sniffing around… Gellert had not cared so much about his own skin – he would have bolted, as usual – but the local law was strict when it came to drug usage. Albus' professional path would have been ruined forever once he was labelled a junkie.

So, Gellert took care of the shaking, vomiting, rambling friend. He brewed weak tea with honey and salt, as Mordred had taught him, and fed it to Dumbledore spoon by spoon, ignoring his babbling. He conjured thick curtains as the morning sun annoyed the idiotic Gryffindork. He stole some vegetables and an old rooster from the Muggles, cooked the soup, and helped Albus eat it. He even kept his mouth shut, though he really wished he could preach a sermon to this Scottish fool.

And, at noon the next day he thought it was over; yet, something became wrong with their bond, though Gellert could not put his finger on it. Maybe Dumbledore remembered his behaviour and was too ashamed to feel at ease with his friend. Maybe he really meant what he had said the previous evening and bore a grudge for being rejected. Or maybe it hurt his pride that Grindelwald saw him stoned, vomiting and weak.

In spite of that, Gellert hoped they could work it out so he organised a tasty dinner, stole some decent tea from Auntie Bathilda and promised a handful of gold to Aberforth for pretending he had not seen his brother's idiocy.

However, nice small talk was what Albus had not mastered yet; instead, he started preaching about politics (by Hela, he was such a terrible know-it all!). Gellert bit his tongue and listened in silence, letting his friend monologue; besides, after the whole night vigil he was in no mood to argue.

Yet, Albus called the great-grandmother Ludwiga a squibbish, Prussian dark witch, responsible for the Finistère carnage. (A Prussian witch, by Odin! Prussian! It was a miracle that Ludwiga had not jumped out of her grave to curse Dumbledore to unconsciousness for that insult.)

Gellert, worn out and sleepy, told Albus to shut up. Dumbledore had not known his family tree at that time yet should have known better than to repeat the British propaganda to a German.

Dumbledore, still a bit dizzy and groggy, kept rambling and insulted Elisabeth for the Finistère battle, calling her a traitor with not a single grain of honour, and a whore of Dracula to boot. That time Gellert, knowing what price his great-grandmother had paid for victory, yelled at him at the top of his lungs.

Albus, angered by his outburst, grabbed his wand and jinxed him. It was nothing hard, to tell the truth; a harmless prank of a teen, the effect of which would last a few minutes at most. Normally, Gellert would just laugh, as the jinx was more funny than annoying for a healthy young man. Yet the spell hit the scar left by the Ice Whip Curse. La petite Mort had done his best to lessen the effects of the curse, but the injury had not healed properly. Pain seared through Gellert's chest and back, taking his breath away. His body arched, he howled as if hit by a Cruciatus, tears running down his cheeks. Panicked, he jumped to his feet, making the little table they sat at turn over.

The whole pot of hot tea splashed on Albus' lap.

Gellert was not quite sure what happened next, he just remembered flashes and bangs, his wrath and fear running amok, remembered cursing Aberforth, who tried to stop them… And then Ariana was dead, and he bolted. He had to, not just to save his skin but to distract the Aurors from delving too deep in the affair, which would incriminate Dumbledore. Keeping an Obscurus at home and hiding her from the authorities would cost Albus years in prison. Not to mention the illegal potions used to keep her under control, Aberforth's experiments with goats and so on, and so forth. As an adult Albus would pay the price for the trespasses of the whole family.

Nevertheless, with Grindelwald gone, the Aurors came to an obvious conclusion: it was the wanted murderer who attacked the Dumbledore brothers and cursed the girl.

Grindelwald sighed. Their duel and the death of Ariana had set Albus free yet had broken something in him. He never trusted anyone again. Dumbledore never married, and, as far as Gellert knew, never lived with anyone. No true friends, no true lovers. Well, there were people who considered themselves his friends, though they were just allies or interesting companions. Maybe there had been some one night stands as well – a young man's body had its needs, after all... Still, Dumbledore had not trusted anyone, had not bonded with anyone, and that made him a poor general. One could not hold the reins alone – not when fighting a war.

Oh, by all kids of Loki, how brittle and sensitive Albus was. Friendship with Gellert, subtle as a charging _Panzerdivision_, could not end up well for him.

Yet, this time there will be no mad sister and no Ice Whip scar. Gellert, with grim satisfaction, crushed the memory, got up and went under the shower. His pyjama was damp with sweat; he must have been stinking like a Muggle. He ran his fingers along the inexistent scar made by a curse that had never been cast. He growled. He could no longer remember the details of his very first prison stay, but the scar still hurt. The body always remembered longer than the brain and refused to forget.

.

.

The wind was howling, the carriage was swinging lightly and Charlotta dosed off, the old memories swirling and slowly turning into a dream.

Gellert... War... Glasgow... Dracula... Dixie... Glasgow... Batory... The Danube bridge... The Danube… Budapest... The dungeons… Batory... The bridge... The train… Tea... The bridge...

Elisabeth yawned, tossed the cloak off and stretched like a cat.

'Where are we?' she murmured, rolling the map out. 'Oh, still one hour to go…' She summoned two cups and opened the tap of the samovar. 'Would you like some tea?' she asked.

Charlotta flinched. Batory. Tea. Dracula. The dungeons. Batory. The bridge. The train. Tea. The bridge... The train… The train!

'Lovelace...' Elisabeth patted her shoulder gently.

'_Would you like some tea, Miss Lovelave?' asked the Elisabeth from the dream, from the past, and Charlotta's heart stopped for a moment. Batory knew her true name and would tell Dracula, and…_

Charlotta screamed.

'Lovelace, wake up!' This time Elisabeth shook her hard.

'It was a stupid joke, Batory,' hissed Charlotta. 'You and your tea…'

'What's wrong with a cup of tea?' Elisabeth raised her eyebrows.

'Even the samovar is the same!'

'What are you talking about?' Batory was visibly confused. 'I have always been using this samovar. It belonged to my great-grandfather Peter.'

'This mad…' growled Charlotta.

'Peter the Rider was sane,' cut Batory in warningly.

'I'm sorry,' sighed Charlotta.

Well, she wasn't. Elisabeth could condemn the deeds of her own grandfather, of Dracula and a few others of her family and friends, yet she idolised Peter the Rider – the wizard counted among the Dark Lords, always belligerent, ruthless and cruel.

'Forget it, please,' Charlotta did not want to escalate the argument. 'I just, well… dreamt about the first time we met.'

'Oh, I see.' Elisabeth nodded and went silent for a moment. 'Yet, it was you who told me to make peace with the past. He is dead and will not come back. And I have kept the word I had given to you. I know I demanded a lot of you, but the situation was dire.'

'But… Don't you think he will come back?'

'Mirko, you mean?'

'How can you call him by his first name? He would have killed you. Don't you hate him?'

'Old habits die hard.' Elisabeth shrugged. 'And if I wasted time hating everyone who wanted to kill me, I would have no time for anything else. But why are you brooding over the past? He will not come back.'

'They always come back.'

'I know my job, he won't.'

'I meant that another one will rise.'

'Yes, it's true,' agreed Elisabeth. 'Over and over again to no end, till the last of the stars burns out. It has to be. Deva and Mora are the same person, remember.' She alluded at a Slavian goddess Deva, the mother of all beings who, when winter came, transformed into the Mora, goddess of death. 'It's the brightest light that causes the darkest shadows…' she continued.

'Still, what brought you to our first encounter?'

'Gellert. I mean… What must have happened to him so that he…' she shook her head.

'What must be ahead of us. If he came from the future, as you said… His future is then coming upon us. I have already had a strange dream, by the way...'

'What have you seen?'

'A map.'

'You are a general, it's normal,' smiled Charlotta weakly.

'I have seen Louisiana and Alaska as US states! And Florida as well! What a war will break out to make it happen…' Batory shook her head.

'What war?' wondered Lovelace.

'And what do you think? They will not buy Alaska as if it were a farm.'

'Muggles buy and sell land, like we do, Elisabeth.'

'But the whole of Alaska?'

Charlotta's neurons finally woke up and fired 'Maybe it was a Muggle map,' she said.

Batory looked at her as on a dumb Squib. 'It was a magical map, I am positive.'

'Sure, but dreams can be strange… Maybe your mind mingled the two. And Muggles indeed have bought Florida, Alaska and Louisiana.'

'If you say so,' agreed Elisabeth. 'How clever of them. Much cheaper than a war… Yes, I think you are right, it must have been a Muggle map. I have been studying them lately.'

'I wonder why.'

'Ask no question, hear no lies, Lovelace.'

'But you don't want to start…'

'I have never started a war by myself, without an explicit order. I have often brought them to an end against the orders, by the way...'

'With all due respect, you are sometimes…creative when interpreting orders.'

'I burn them in my fireplace, you mean.' Batory grinned impishly. 'But I am getting too old for yet another putsch. I am a good girl now. I will sit still… unless the Ministry puts me under pressure, of course.'

'It would be stupid of them,' smiled Charlotta.

'Oh, sooner or later they will,' sighed Elisabeth, shaking her head. 'My time as a general is up soon, I tell you.'

'If you don't provoke them, why should they risk…'

'You don't understand, Lovelace. Every government considers me a potential problem, no matter what I do. I bet I will not die in the battlefield, they will execute me… assassinate me, maybe. No Minister sleeps peacefully as long as I roam this planet. Any general growing too powerful is seen as a risk not only by the enemies but also by the allies and superiors.'

'Oh, Dracula also…'

'Yes, he also came to the same conclusion, and for a good reason. And then, only one of us could survive. We'll see who survives this time. I don't provoke the MoM anymore, but I keep an eye on them.'

'Couldn't you retire?'

'Have you ever seen a bored general?' laughed Batory. 'Goddesses forbid.'

.

.

A giant jaguar was sunbathing at the patio, its chest moving slowly up and down. A puma lied at her side, stretching its long, lean body.

'Joyce,' said Batory quietly. 'Please, wake up.'

The ears of both cats turned towards hear and their eyelids opened lazily. Charlotta sighed. If an unnaturally big jaguar looked ominous, the heterochromia made her even scarier.

'Joyce, Kameradin, my friend,' continued Elisabeth 'I know we were to arrive only in the afternoon, but there is no time to waste.'

The jaguar yawned, baring her teeth and turned into Freeman. The other cat also transformed, becoming a girl with brown skin, curly hair and extreme heterochromia.

'Splendid, Gwendolin, such a beautiful transformation at your age,' Batory complimented her. 'Joyce, are you already healthy?'

'Sure, sure,' smiled Freeman. 'It was nothing serious, just a stupid magozoologist made some mess and I went to clean up. And one of his pets bit me in the arse, that's all.'

'You went into that swamps to…'

'Not alone, I am no fool. And I know the swamps like my own wand, Lotta. And anyhow, it takes a magical jaguar to take down a magical gator.'

Charlotta gritted her teeth. She hated being called 'Lotta' and, to boot, Joyce, still half asleep, mingled the Louisiana French and English dialects by adding local Indian words from time to time. Merlin's beard, it was impossible to make sense of that hotchpotch! As General Johnson always said, there was no point to interrogate a Muggleborn from the South, one could not understand them anyhow…

'Want some tea?' continued Joyce.

'I wouldn't say no to a dinner,' replied Elisabeth.

'A gator steak?'

`Two,' growled Elisabeth with a greedy smile.

Joyce snapped her fingers and a table materialised in the patio. Two snaps later, the table was sagging under the weight of food and beverages. The meat was delicious though Charlotta preferred not to inquire whether they were indeed consuming a magical alligator bitten to death by Joyce.

'So.' Joyce ran the knife against the china with an unpleasant screech. 'You have not travelled across the ocean to ask about my arse, I bet.'

'Charlotta, can you explain?' asked Elisabeth. 'It seems Gellert has stolen a century…'

'Well, it's in his blood, El,' said Joyce with pride. 'And he is right. If you steal a galleon, they put you in prison. If you snatch a whole continent, they call you a great general… No offense, El.'

'Well, that's my biography in a nutshell,' shrugged Batory. 'Why should we pretend I spent my life baking cakes?'

'You are a good baker, too,' replied Joyce.

'Gellert made time travel, Joyce. A century long leap,' Lovelace butted in.

'I heard you could manage no more than one hour, and it is already risky…'

'It seems magic progressed – will progress in the twentieth century, Joyce.'

.

.

_Mora / Deva (several other name forms are also used) is the Slavian 'double' goddess of winter and death (as Mora, derived from Latin 'mors', i.e. death) as well as plants and life (as Deva, i.e. a young woman)_

_Kameradin is a female 'comrade' or 'fellow'. Elisabeth means 'Kriegskameradin', i.e. female fellow soldier._


	8. Chapter 8

Betaed by fadingintostarlight. Thanks!

This one is dark, sad and quite graphic.

**Chapter 8**

**Where the abyss stares back **

Gellert opened the shower tap to the maximum, letting warm water run down the inexistent scars, injuries and tattoos; letting the filth of his previous, cruel, violent life trickle down the drain. He had rejected that life, discarded it like a threadbare cloth, so he had to let it go. Still, forgetting was hard and forgetting his sons – even more excruciating.

Siegfried, or 'Siggi', his first-born, the fruit of his early romance. His unabashed, talking-back, audacious son. How could he forget him? How could he forget his only grandson, Siggi junior? Both Siggis were fools, standing their ground stubbornly when the battle had already been lost. He had ordered them to disapparate… and they had disobeyed. He had found them already cold and stiff – there was nothing he could do anymore.

He howled in pain and rage, hitting the shower wall with his fist. This time he would protect his family!

He wondered whether Siegfried had ever learnt that Gellert slept with his mother, a witch nearly three decades older, just to get the opportunity to enter her library. Gellert didn't even know whether she had realised that. Well, she was smart, and she had probably known his true intentions but did not care. After all, with Gellert's 'help' she finally had managed to give her wealthy husband the long-awaited heir. Only when the truth had come out, Siegfried had been sent to Gellert like a faulty artefact to the manufacturer.

Grindelwald felt ashamed like never before. How could he treat Siggi like that? That splendid young man had deserved much more than the mother who rejected him… and it was Gellert who had chosen that cold, calculating woman. He should have known better! Siggi deserved much more than to be a side effect of his parents' ambitions.

.

_Enough_, he said to himself, ripping the memories out of his brain.

.

But it was just the beginning. Then came Henning, Ferenc and Fima – the sons of Raisa.

.

Henning, the idiot traitor…

No, it was Gellert who was a fool, ignoring the reality, turning a deaf ear on the good advice. And the brave, noble Henning had just attempted to prevent the final catastrophe and had paid with his life for that.

Gellert quivered, though the shower was warm. If Henning had not fallen in the skirmish that had broken out between his supporters and those who had stayed loyal to the Greater Good… If Henning had been captured alive and thrown to Gellert's feet…

Grindelwald preferred not to think what he would have done then.

Gellert leaned against the shower wall, panting. _Augen zu und durch_, he reminded himself. _Don't be a wimp, grit your teeth and get to it!_ The bond to his children had to be severed finally or else he would go mad. So, he took a deep breath and delved in his unlived past again.

.

Ferenc, the second son of Raisa, the fool who had jumped into the beam of the curse to protect his father. _Why, you stupid kid_, thought Gellert, _I was not worth it…_

But Ferenc was quite a fanatic, Gellert mused, had he wanted to save the father or the general? Was there any difference, in the end? Grindelwald snorted. Movers and shakers always got intertwined with their case, their private and political sides mingling inseparably. But what had Ferenc seen in him? The father or the leader of the Greater Good?

He shook his head. _Stop those idiotic musings_, he scolded himself. _Keep going._

.

Fima, poor little Fima, too young to understand what was going on. Fima, who just happened to be in the wrong place in the wrong time…

It hurt so badly that Gellert had the impression something snapped inside him.

'_But I also did not give a damn about… How __did the Muggles call__ it? Collateral damage?_' thought Grindelwald bitterly. '_The Norns just gave me tit for tat…_'

.

_Enough! Let them go,_ he scolded himself again. _They have never existed. They are just wraiths haunting you, turning you mad. Get to it!_

.

The worst was still to come. Benjamin, his little Minni, his last ray of hope in 1945. Benjamin was not a child of Raisa – Gellert had been a widower already at that time – but of Serrure, a Parisian burglar witch – Grindelwald's last toy and last lover.

Serrure was as stupid all others who still were loyal to him in 1945 – who still had followed him instead of running for their lives. _No_, Gellert snorted, she was the most stupid of them all, getting entangled into a love affair with a general whose stars were already fading.

Minni, how could he forget him? How could he forget what he had done on the last day of his free life?

.

He gasped, feeling his mental shields crumble. He should have known better…

The black hole of memories sucked him in before he braced himself for the impact.

_The basement room was cold and damp, its low ceiling covered by zigzags of cracks. Serrure was breathing slowly, irregularly, with a gurgling sound._

'_I cannot save them both,' whispered the terrified Healer._

'_Then save one of them,' hissed Gellert through clenched teeth._

'_Your love…I mean, the mother could be healed…maybe, though her chances are low. But the child…born so prematurely…Sir, don't look!' she stepped between him and the patients._

'_I want to see my son,' he demanded._

'_It's just… You should not…'_

'_You stupid Squib, I have seen far worse than that' he growled menacingly, his eyes flashing with madness. `I have seen what Muggles do to Muggles nowadays if you know what I mean!'_

_Shaking, the witch stepped to the side._

_Grindelwald had never seen such a tiny baby before. In silence, he looked at the __minuscule__ fingers still lacking nails, the tiny face still without eyelashes and eyebrows, the thin ribs visible under the transparent skin. His son, his dead son was such a beauty…_

_Grindelwald jerked. The ribcage of the baby was moving._

'_By all the Norns, he's breathing!'_

'_But the lungs and the heart are not mature yet to…' replied the Healer, but she did not finish the sentence. Grindelwald hit her hard in the face, like a Muggle._

'_Quiet, you filthy Squib!' he roared in rage._

_He picked up his son, hugging him as gently as he could to not break the miniature bones. The skin of the baby was bluish and cool._

'_Welcome, Minni,' he whispered, though he was not sure whether the baby could hear him. 'How much time is left?' he barked at the Healer._

_She stared at him, confused._

'_Before my son dies, you Squib whore.'_

_The witch did not dare answer. General Grindelwald had never talked like that before, not even to prisoners._

'_Spit it out before I make you yell,' he hissed._

'_No one can save the baby so small…'_

'_How. Much. Time. Is. Left.' he repeated in a guttural tone, his fingers brushing the handle of his wand._

'_An hour, maybe two,' she whispered, bracing for the curse._

_Grindelwald gasped. He had remembered the noose tightening around his neck. He had remembered how he had been drowning. He had remembered his lungs filling with blood when three curses had hit his chest simultaneously._

_He had remembered every second of it and would not let his son experience something of this kind if there was no chance to save him._

'_So,' he ordered, forcing himself to speak in an even tone. 'Bring it to an end.'_

'_I can't…' she protested._

'_And I could grab your stupid head and force it underwater,' he barked. 'After a minute you would understand what my son is going through.'_

'_But…'_

'_But,' he interrupted her. 'I have been hanged once. I'd thrashed for ten minutes or so till my magic exploded, setting me free. I will not let my son feel that. No!' He shook his head. _

_The vertebras, injured on the gallows, ached again. He remembered how the witnesses of his execution gloated at his agony and jeering… And then his magic exploded, and it had been him who had been gloating and jeering… The memories of theirs and his own cruelty just drove him even more mad._

_Gently, he put the baby back in its makeshift cot and took a step back. The Healer, realising what he was about to do, stared at him in terror. _There was no use of this Squib_, he thought._

_He swished his wand with a well-trained gesture, squinting his eyes not to get dazzled by the curse flash._

_._

In the new reality, the boy Gellert sank to his knees, throwing up. His magic went haywire, the candles went out, the window glass cracked. How could he even think of overcoming his past? He was a fool, thinking history could be forced to capitulate. And the past stroke again.

.

_No magic in the world could do anything for his Minni anymore. He could not do anything for his baby…_

_Sure, he could. He could revenge his son._

_Gellert waved his wand but was unable to transform anything into baby clothes. No wonder: his magic had refused to obey him after what he had done. He snapped the wand into pieces – it was cursed and thus useless anyhow – and threw it into the corner. He still had the Elder Wand; he would squeeze out all its power and show the world what the German revenge meant._

_He opened the trunk he had packed, planning yet another escape. No, there was no reason to escape anymore… He ripped a piece of cloth off a black shirt and wrapped Minni in it. He concentrated, hugging the dead baby against his chest, and disapparated._

_The cemetery was abandoned and silent. Only frozen snow cracked under his feet as he walked along the path between the graves._

_Ferenc, Gellert, Rudolfine, Ginevra, Ferenc, Minerva, another Ferenc, Bellatrix, Corvus, Altair, Wotan, Hildegarde… He strode past the graves of the Batory family, plain and simple, adorned only with the wand trees of the dead._

_His great-grandmother Elisabeth, who had insisted to be buried next to her father whom she had never met. Her grave was shadowed by a giant aspen. Grindelwald halted to look at the splendid tree. An aspen. _No wonder_, he thought. Having studied wandlore __in-depth__, he understood the duality of the aspen wand nature. Such wands marked outstanding, often eccentric personalities; it was also said to be particularly suitable for shielding spells. Furthermore, the Slavic folklore stated that a dagger cut out of an aspen branch was the only means to kill vampires and evil wizards. On the other hand, the Muggles said the aspen quivered all the time, because Cain had made the club to kill his brother out of aspen wood… and Judas hanged himself on an aspen branch. So, the shield tree was also the tree of traitors and fratricides. _All of that fitted Elisabeth only too well_, he mused._

_He sighed and moved on, passing by the graves of his older sons who would never meet their tiny brother. An oak, a magnolia, a birch, a yew._

_Ferenc, Gellert's older brother, sentenced – by Elisabeth – to death for treason. A hickory tree._

_Another Ferenc, the patricide, the uncle of Elisabeth. A sycamore tree._

_Altair, his father, a cruel fanatic, obsessed about blood purity more than that Brit Voldemort. A __ginkgo__._

_Row by row, the trees stand in silence, their hoarfrosted branches glittering in the moonlight. _

_._

_Having buried the baby, Grindelwald knelt at the fresh grave and stayed motionless for some time. Then he slowly stood up._

_He would die before the sun would set again. But tonight… He would set their cities on fire, reducing New York and Paris to ashes. Tonight, they would regret ever being born. General Grindelwald would die but his enemies would not celebrate his demise. They would wail in despair._

_He took out his knife and cut into his own flesh with fierce determination; again and again. The blood gushed on his son's grave and Grindelwald recited the incantation with a hoarse but steady tone. _

_They had murdered an innocent child, only because Grindelwald was his father. The House of Batory would not look idly at such a squibbery._

_His blood flew, melting runes in the snow. He twisted his lips into a cruel smile, deciphering them._

_Seemingly nothing happened; no gust of wind swept over the cemetery, no thunder shook the night sky, no vindictive wraiths rose off the graves. Yet the ancient, savage, furious magic showed Gellert the way. He disapparated again._

_._

_The city was reduced to ashes. The fragments of walls, scorched to the bricks, showed where the houses used to be. The violent fires hand burnt the asphalt out. The steel doors of bunkers resembled tin cans that had been stepped on with a studded boot. Whoever had sought shelter inside had suffocated as the flames consumed all the oxygen. The stench of carbonised bodies hung heavily in the air. _

_Grindelwald walked down the rubbled street, the pieces of shattered glass and roofing tiles cracking under his boots._

_He would make that Muggle scum pay for that as well, both the Nazis and the Allies. Germany was holy, Germany was more than the mother and the father. Whoever murdered his land would pay the price._

_He stumbled and fell; something pierced his hand, in spite of the thick leather glove. He picked this thing up and his face twisted in a mad smile. It was a piece of a china doll head, the best blade he could find to perform the Nibelungen Curse. He clenched his fist on the shard, feeling blood trickling between his fingers. _Let it flow_, he thought, _the more the better.

_He drudged forward slowly, exhausted by the blood loss and by earlier injuries, forced to circumvent bomb craters and basements gaping open, to climb over brick piles and scorched tree trunks. Yet, in the end, he saw the goal of his trip._

_He entered through the door hole into what used to be a lush opera foyer._

_Oh, Norns, why had it ended like that? _

_Grindelwald knelt in the middle of the destroyed Semperoper, grasped the china shard harder and with mad perseverance, went on cutting runes into his flesh, hissing old incantations._

_He wanted them to smell his blood, to sense his magic. He wanted them to come, like the bloodhounds following the scent of a wounded wolf._

_And indeed, they apparated, so easily lured into a trap. He bared his teeth in a smile. Fools. Didn't they realise why he was there? Had they not learnt yet who he was?_

Well_, he thought, he had spent half of his __life__ disguising his true nature, hadn't he? At least in that he had succeeded. He grinned, looking at the bloody shard. No one had noticed the deadly blade that would cut their hearts out. '_Call me Mack_,' he hissed triumphantly and sang under his breath._

_Und der Haifisch, der hat Zähne,_  
_Und die trägt er im Gesicht.__  
__Und Macheath, der hat ein Messer,__  
__Doch das Messer sieht man nicht._

_Denn die einen sind im Dunkeln__  
__Und die andern sind im Licht__  
__Und man siehet die im Lichte__  
__Die im Dunkeln sieht man nicht!_

_Oh, the shark has pretty teeth, dear  
And he shows them, pearly white  
Just a __jack-knife__ has Macheath, dear  
But he keeps it well out of sight,_

_There are some who are in darkness__  
__And the others are in light__  
__And you see the ones in brightness__  
__Those in darkness drop from sight!_

_To his satisfaction, hundreds of his enemies had appeared, obviously thinking he was accompanied by a huge number of his supporters. He laughed loudly, the cruel, savage magic flooding his mind._

'_Dad, please, don't…'_

_He quivered, seeing his son Ferenc… or rather his wraith._

_Ferenc was followed by Siegfried and Henning, all begging him to interrupt the ritual._

_Gellert howled in rage and schadenfreude; he felt no cold, no pain – just hate, turning his blood into mercury. _

'_Go away, you traitors… you cowards!' he roared at the wraiths._

_The enemies kept Apparating, unaware of the trap that was about to snap. Surprised, they kept casting spells to locate Grindelwald`s supporters and dangerous animals but, to their astonishment, found none…_

_Gellert grinned widely, noticing the confusion among the enemy officers. Those fools knew nothing about magic and lacked the instinct of a general. In their place, he would have realised something was fishy and send most of the fighters back till the situation would be cleared._

_And maybe they would have done that __had __they had the time… but one of the Apparating wizards stumbled over a slippery metal object, half-buried in the ground. He tried to stand up, yet he slipped again on the smooth surface. The annoyed man cast a vanishing charm to get rid of the treacherous obstacle…_

_The dud blockbuster had withstood the fall __of__ the bomber but not the impact of a well-aimed spell. Two thousand tons of explosives turned into a giant fireball, ripping apart everything in its way. The pressure wave knocked down the remaining opera wall, burying Grindelwald under bricks and wooden beams. He could reach neither his wand nor his luger gun. All he could do was to stare at his femur bone, sticking out of his mangled thigh._

_._

_He had never found out what really happened that fateful morning._

_Was it his sons who interrupted his ritual? But ghosts, spirits and wraiths could not manipulate the material objects anymore. And they would not approve of the massacre anyhow… Probably they had been just hallucinations, the last spark of sanity in his mind flooded with pain, rage and despair._

_Or was the explosion the result of his ritual? Well, he had craved for revenge and he got hundreds of his enemies killed, hundreds wounded. Yet the price for the Nibelungen Curse was the death of the curse-caster while he had survived…_

_ So, he mused darkly in Nurmengard, probably it was just a whim of the Norns, bad luck, as duds lurked in thousand in the ruins. The Aurors at least had not blamed him for the explosion; otherwise they would have tortured him to death on the spot. _

What an irony of fate_, he thought, _was it a Muggle bomb that ended our war?

_Whatever the reason of the explosion might have been, it had incapacitated him. Grindelwald, pinned to the ground by a charred beam, breathed in the reek of the explosion, of blood and scorched flesh, wondering why everyone was so silent… or maybe just the blast had busted his __tympans__. _

_._

_And, to his surprise, he felt no satisfaction, none at all._

_He was a fool; he should have realised already that his life was no epic quest. His reign would not end in a legendary, heroic duel. He would not fall in a world-shaking, victorious battle. He would not even die, protecting his family and friends._

_No, he would suffocate under the ruins like a defenceless Muggle._

_And his revenge? Where was its glory? It was nothing but the reek of blood of people who could be his grandchildren. The blood of his brothers and sisters in magic. There was nothing enjoyable about their demise. There was nothing reasonable about letting them die like that._

_ He had wanted to create a world where his brothers and sisters in magic could be free, he had fought injustice and tyranny… __And to what end?_

_Wer mit Ungeheuern kämpft, mag zusehen, dass er nicht dabei zum Ungeheuer wird. Und wenn du lange in einen Abgrund blickst, blickt der Abgrund auch in dich hinein._

_He who fights with monsters should look to it that he himself does not become a monster. And if you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss also gazes into you._

_._

_Maybe he would have cried but his eyes were too dry, caked with dust and ash. He was shaking of cold, gasping for breath as the load on his chest pinned him mercilessly against the ground. His blood slowly soaked through his clothes; he would not keep much longer…_

_And the thirst, he would give all the world for a cup of water!_

_._

_._

Ludwiga von Bayern sensed a jolt. She sat up on her bed, her hand already closing around her wand.

'Young mister Gellert!' squeaked the house-elf, visibly agitated.

'Sick! Dying!'

'Again otitis?' asked Ludwiga calmly. 'It's painful but not dangerous, Bibi.'

'Dying! His magic… Madam, his magic!'

Ludwiga jumped out of the bed and sprinted to the kids' quarters. She had seen lots of magical accidents and diseases in her life but that…

Gellert, still under a running shower, raving, scratching runes on his skin. The old witch looked at them and paled. She understood several rune alphabets, as they were particularly suitable to protect and tame the animals. Yet what Gellert had made was no defense, but a curse. The Nibelungen Curse, the one used to revenge the children... or grandchildren.

Now she was positive Gellert had managed a temporal leap. She also realised why. And she would do just anything to help him prevent that from happening again.

She knew the pain only too well; she had managed to carry to term only one daughter. It was with her third husband, the previous two having dumped her for infertility. She remembered the shame, the gossip, the disgust and disdain she had faced. She remembered the pain, the blood, the tiny, dead babies. She remembered her suicide attempt after a miscarriage in the sixth month of pregnancy. She remembered the face of her dead son. And it hurt as if it had happened yesterday.

She…

'I will help you, I swear,' she whispered, clutching her wand.

Gellert looked at her and Ludwiga stared in the abyss of his eyes.

.

.

So, some extras:

_Semperoper is the opera house in Dresden; it was destroyed in the bombing and the following firestorm in February 1945._

_The song is a part of the "Threepenny Opera" by B. Brecht; very popular till forbidden by the Nazis. Macheath, alias Mack the Knife, the protagonist of the opera, is a bandit who always gets away with murder (or anything else he does). The song was performed by many prominent artists, my favourite being Frankie. However, usually not all the verses are sung as it would be really long._

_Nibelung (plural: Nibelungen) were a legendary clan of dwarves; the most known version of their story is the Wagner opera Der Ring des Nibelungen (The Ring of the Nibelung). It's all about revenge that turns into a mindless slaughter._

_The musings about the aspen tree are based on Celtic and Slavian folklore; my Gran preferred the version that the cross of Christ was made of aspen and that's why the tree quivers all the time, still shocked by that crime._

'He who fights with monsters…' is a famous quote of Nietsche.

BTW, "schadenfreude" is a German word, literally meaning harm-joy.


	9. Chapter 9

**The shisha**

'Well, what do you want me to do?' asked Joyce, having heard the whole story. 'Even if it's true we will all be dead before he rises to power.'

'I think,' Elisabeth began, 'that first we should teach him as much as possible and try not to die before he understands what leadership means… and that brute force is often not the best means to achieve your goals.'

'Oh, how do you know?' Charlotta couldn't help being sarcastic.

Elisabeth didn't even bat an eyelid. 'I know,' she replied calmly. 'I have learnt that during my hundred and fourteen years at war with the wand in my hand.'

'And the knife between your teeth…'

'Sometimes,' agreed Batory. 'I have learnt that through conquests and capitulations, through licking the boots of tyrants and cursing their heads off… And through this idiotic carnage of Finistère…'

Charlotta rose her eyebrows.

'You call your biggest battle…'

'Idiotic, unnecessary carnage!' Elisabeth hit the table with her fist. 'And I've been telling them… We would have capitulated! Paid the damages! But no, they wanted an epic battle!' she roared, suddenly enraged, tossing a plate against the wall.

After the poor plate, another followed, then the teacup, then… Batory was swearing like a drunken squib, insulting the politicians of that epoque with the words that would make the toughest of her troopers blush.

Charlotta couldn't believe her eyes and ears. Batory was always so general-ish, stone-faced, composed, even if the night was green of curses. It seemed that death, in particular, the death of enemy fighters left her cold.

Especially – Charlotta remembered it only too well – that said enemies had wanted to massacre her army – man, troll or Pegasus alike.

'He was dead!' Batory shouted, obviously referring to Dracula. 'The battle could have been avoided! I had his closest supporters imprisoned! I would have handed them out and didn't mind if they ended as dragon fodder! Finistère was for nothing! I would have knelt in the middle of Notre Dame, begging forgiveness for mine and not mine deeds, if that was what they had wanted! They could have ripped my buttons off! I could have paid the Blood Debt! But no, they wanted us destroyed at any cost, they were hell-bent…'

'El.' Joyce interrupted her with a quiet but firm voice. 'We know that. We were there at your side.'

Strangely, Batory went quiet. The two old generals stared in each other's' eyes; for a moment, Elisabeth's ragged, fast breath was the only sound in the room. Then, Freeman broke the silence, speaking slowly, carefully choosing her words.

'El, I came to help you with volunteers who knew how much you had done for our freedom and dignity… for our survival. There would be no free Dixie without you. Our gratitude…'

Batory, still silent, started tapping her fingers on the table.

'And we all know,' continued Joyce with a stern tone, 'That you asked for peace and were ready to pay the price for it, as a true general should. Yet, all of us, all your Finistère army, were no humans beings in the eyes of our enemies. They stripped us of all wizarding rights, it was like becoming a slave again, El. So, again, we made them respect us. We made them, there was no other way. Freedom and dignity must be conquered – no one will give them to you, El. And I know what I am talking about. And maybe… Gellert also had had his own Finistère and wants to prevent it.'

Batory tilted her head, intrigued.

'And Gellert's Finistère is the only one that still matters,` continued Freeman. `Ours is water down the bridge, we cannot undo them. Let's do what we have always done; let's keep marching forward and let the old demons sleep.'

'Those demons will wake up to haunt us,' growled Batory, 'and you know it.'

'El, we can send them back to sleep,' replied Freeman. 'I started with no plan, no money, no knowledge, with a bunch of misfits and outcasts. I couldn't ever read! They called me the general of niggers, mudbloods, hillbillies. And then, see what happened. Look at who I am now…`

`You are a splendid general,` retorted Batory. `But this is not enough to win a war.'

`I know. No one wins a war alone. If I hadn`t met some splendid friends… Like good old Georgie.' She smiled, suddenly remembering general Johnson. 'They paid him for the hide of the Jaguar, those MACUS-apes…' she trailed off.

.

_Oh no_, sighed Charlotta, _that could be a long, long speech_. Anyhow, that part of the story she knew well as she had been in Johnson's army at the time. MACUSA sent George Johnson to destroy Joyce's rebellion. But 'good old Georgie' chose to betray them and join forces with Freeman.

.

'Georgie was all I was not,` Joyce stated calmly. `White, pure-blooded, educated – a big city boy. He had all the reasons to look down upon me. Still, he considered me a general worthy to negotiate with. He swallowed his pride and stretched his hand to me. To me. To a slave, a muggle-born, a criminal, a simpleton. And he could have killed us all. He would have managed to hunt us down.'

'At what cost?' barked Batory.

'At the cost of Finistère. He would have come home with the hide of the Jaguar…'

'Joyce!' moaned Charlotta.

'…and would put it in front of the fireplace, how epic,' sneered Freeman. 'Yet, he would have come home with a tenth of his army. The corps of the rest would fill the bellies of our gators. And Johnson could still strut proudly, clinking with his medals like those alpine cows with their bells. No one would have said a word against him.'

.

Charlotta, reluctantly, had to agree. Death of a bunch of mercenaries, in the eyes of the bureaucrats of New York, would be a cheap price for the eradication of a dangerous rebellion.

.

'So,' continued Joyce, 'Georgie had prevented the battle that would bring only death. It's doable, then. War is over when enough people want it, simple. So, let's help Gellert to prevent the next carnage.'

'I did my best to prevent Fi…' hissed Batory.

'Failure is a part of being a general! A dragon has to run if a thousand fwoopers attack, that's your own words!' shouted Freeman in her face. 'We were outnumbered, we had to play to their terms! All that had to be done so we could live! You… I still have the knife!'

Charlotta had no idea what knife she was talking about but Batory slowly nodded.

'You are right' she said 'We have to take care of the future. I will teach Gellert all a general has to know and be able to do, the Four Riders inclusive.'

Charlotta was not sure whether it was the best way to avoid yet another bloodbath but knew Batory had set her mind.

'I just have one question,' replied Joyce. 'Would you really have begged their forgiveness if that had been the price for peace?'

'I would. In the middle of Szent István-bazilika, if they had wished that.'

'And the buttons… You meant it?'

Without a word, Elisabeth ripped a button off her uniform and tossed it on the table. Joyce nodded.

'Teach him that.' She smiled. 'Teach him about the buttons and we have no reason to worry.'

'What do you mean?' asked Charlotta.

'Come with me, I will explain to you on the way,' replied Joyce.

They went towards Joyce's private rooms.

'You don't know about the buttons?' asked Freeman, surprised. 'You are a fighter.'

'I am a military counsellor from time to time, I would say. Not a fighter.'

'El is of another opinion. She called you a general.'

'Still, I don't know about the buttons. I'm not in your league, I don't know all your… insider jokes.'

'I am not in the same league as El. I am the Jaguar. She's a _nundu_,' stated Joyce simply.

'But the buttons?'

'The buttons are a metaphor,' said Joyce, 'of what a general is.'

'A button metaphor? You mean…'

'I know what it means, I can even spell this word!' snapped Joyce 'I bet I read fewer books than you but…'

'Joyce, I know you know! But I can't see how buttons can represent a general.'

'Have you ever seen El in full Monty?'

'You mean in her parade uniform? Sure, even in the Dracula's one…'

'Oh, that was the most beautiful one of all, Uncle Vlad had a good taste.' Freeman smiled.

'Joyce…'

'He had. I know he hurt you but still, the uniforms were fantastic. And do you remember the buttons?'

'I do. They were adorned with those two dragons of his Guild…'

'So, you don`t remember,' cut in Freeman. 'Only the members of the Guild had the right to carry its symbol and El had never joined.'

'She was not in the Dracula`s Guild? So how come he made her a general?' wondered Charlotta.

'He wasn't stupid. Mad, maybe, but not stupid. He knew he needed warriors, not yes-wizards and pleasers.'

'But… it meant she didn't really agree with his ideology.'

'As long as she delivered, that was tolerated. A warhorse may be feisty and wayward – as long as it carries you to victory, it is fine. And Dracula, you must say – he was bright, he could spot a good fighter. Don't look at me like that, I knew him personally. I met him a few times. We were allies, after all... Okay, coming back to buttons,' sighed Joyce. 'Generals` uniforms have golden buttons, it's a tradition. Even I had them.'

'With all the respect, how could you get them?' asked Lovelace.

'I cut them off the uniforms of the other three generals, the ones I killed at the very beginning. I mean, calling them generals… They were just rogues. You see, at the beginning, no one took me seriously so the Good Guys didn`t send a proper army against me.' She sneered in disdain.

'It was cheaper to hire a gang of killers. Still, they were called generals because they had a blessing of a bunch of clerks.' Joyce snorted. 'I must have looked really funny, the way I dressed then. I had no idea how a leader should look, I just copied whatever I saw…'

'I must confess some people laughed… until you attacked.'

`Indeed.` Joyce grinned maliciously. 'But let's finally get to the buttons. It's a symbol of being a general. Rip a button off El's shirt and she will duel you, she will wipe the floor with you. Call her a squib and she will just smile. Touch her buttons and you are dead.'

'So,' mused Charlotta, 'Elisabeth wanted… You mean, she wanted that they dishonour her in public? No way.'

'Well, she didn't WANT that,' snorted Joyce 'She would have agreed to that if that would have been the price for leaving us alone. You know, she thought if she got humiliated in public, the mob would be happy, so that the enemy politicians, without losing their faces, could negotiate reasonable capitulation conditions with us. Queen went to bargain with the IWC, you must remember her… Porpentine Queen, the lawyer witch… El knew that she couldn't win the Dracula's war anymore. So, all she wanted was to end it as fast as possible with as few deaths as possible. And to show that she meant it, she sent one of her buttons to those stupid squibs. The message was clear. She would have taken the responsibility on herself. She would beg forgiveness and mercy if that would please the ego of our enemies. And, you must say, El wasn't guilty of Dracula's crimes. She always fought the honourable way.'

'But IWC wanted the destruction of Dracula's supporters,' sighed Charlotta, without commenting on Elisabeth's innocence. In her opinion, zealously supporting a Dark Lord was a crime in itself, though she had to admit that the "Side of the Light" were no angels as well, to put it mildly, and that Dracula often had a point, questioning the old political order.

'So, El trashed them black and blue and then they had to bargain,' purred Joyce, visibly enjoying that the tables had turned.

'It's here!' She halted suddenly and opened a heavy door with a big key. 'Come in!'

The storeroom was cluttered with boxes, chests and trunks and a huge, old cupboard occupied the place in the farthest corner. Freeman opened its door, which squeaked horribly and carefully took out a shisha, made of a skull.

'Was this your owner?' Charlotta couldn't help asking.

The Jaguar flashed in Joyce's eyes.

'No,' she growled menacingly. 'That was the human trash that had bought my brother. And he was a guy who enjoyed breaking his toys.' Her lips twitched in fury. 'I must say, I also enjoyed breaking him into pieces.'

.

The returned to the patio in silence. Only when the shisha had been placed on the table, Joyce asked: 'What do you want to see?'

'Show us a war. The war that will break out when Gellert will be a man,' commanded Elisabeth.

'As you wish.' Joyce blew hard and a huge puff of smoke rose into the air.

'What is that?' whispered Lovelace.

'It looks like a canon on wheels,' replied Elisabeth slowly. 'A canon that can move without horses… Fascinating.'

'A canon attached to a locomotive?' wondered Charlotta. 'But where is the chamber for coal? The furnace? The steam engine? It's too small to…'

'How can I know?' snorted Batory. 'Maybe Muggles will invent that…'

'…steam engine…'

'That would fit into that machine. They are creative, I must admit. I wonder about its firepower…Fascinating! If I could only make such a canon invisible, though it would be challenging to charm it as it amounts to tons of steel and it consumes tons of coal…' Bator mused aloud.

'But Gellert is a wizard, he will not use that!'

'Don't you carry a charmed revolver, Charlotta?' smiled Batory.

'It's another story.'

'It's just the question of dimensions. If I could only charm those things invisible. An invisible squad! And if I dampen their noise, they would move quietly like ghosts…'

'Well, we have not learnt anything about Gellert yet!' Charolotta interrupted her. 'All we know is that Muggles will improve their artillery, which is worrying, but rather predictable.'

'Worrying, indeed.' Elisabeth nodded. 'Of course, their wars are not our business in principle but such powerful artillery could damage the magical field. If they destroy, for example, Stonehenge or any of the big cathedrals, that could influence our world, too.'

'But why should they?' wondered Charlotta.

'They are not completely blind to magic,' explained Batory. 'They don't perceive it the way we can, but the nodes of the field are attractive for them somehow. They tend to erect their temples there, considering that locations holy.'

'But why should they destroy them, then?'

Elisabeth looked at her as if to say _'Are you a dumb squib?'._

'Firstly, simply by accident or mistake. Secondly, because a cathedral could stand in their way and their leader would not care. Thirdly, to humiliate the enemy. Or to get revenge. Or because they are losing and, in their fury, they will break down whatever they can.'

'Oh,' understood Charlotta. 'But we cannot mingle into their politics anyhow.'

'They are too numerous to be controlled, indeed.'

'It's more than that,' explained Charlotta. 'Muggle politics is protected from wizard intervention. It's ancient magic, dating from the beginning of the very first states. It was when being magical began problematic.'

'During those times, the Non-Maj didn't condemn magic, Lotta!' interrupted Joyce. 'It was a normal thing.'

'True,' agreed Charlotta. 'But real wizards and witches were far more powerful than Muggle astrologists or medicine men. The first kings realised that and feared them or tried to use their power for their own means. That's when we separated from Muggles for the first time. Still, some of us meddled into muggle affairs but it caused resentment and anger against us all. So, the magical community strengthened the barrier between them and us. Nowadays it's layers over layers of spells, a real thick wall of magic blocking any intervention into their affairs.'

'No way!' exclaimed Joyce. 'You can kill a Non-Maj. You can curse them any way you want.'

'Joyce, it's… on another level. Yes, you can kill a slave trader. But no, you cannot force a Muggle president to change the laws.'

'Knowing how such barriers usually work,' said Elisabeth, 'I assume that you could get drunk, go on a hexing spree and curse their president down in the street by pure chance if your intentions were not political. But killing him because of his political actions would be impossible… How far can you go, by the way?'

'I don`t know,' replied Charlotta. 'But if you overstep the line, either you will fail or our action will backfire, though maybe not immediately and directly. Complex spell combinations tend to have surprising effects, but they are highly effective.'

'This is what we have to tell Gellert before he blows up the Habsburg emperor in the air,' sighed Elisabeth. 'Joyce, show us some more please. The adult Gellert, for example?'

Another puff of smoke rose into the air.

'Who is that?` Charlotta's eyes went wide. Even Elisabeth rose her eyebrows.

'Oh, our little Lili turned into a big boy.' Joyce smiled.

Charlotta gritted her teeth. She hated being called 'Lotta' but calling Gellert 'Lilli' was even worse.

'What a man.' Joyce smiled proudly 'Real Siegfried the Dragon Killer... Ethan had such a body in his youth, yum.'

'It's your great-grandson, Joyce,' hissed Charlotta.

'I'm just objective,' retorted Freeman, undaunted. 'He is gorgeous. Though I hate men with short hair.'

'And I hate the chains that restrain him,' barked Elisabeth.

'It's called handcuffs.'

'Whatever it's called, Charlotta, I hate it.'

'Elisabeth, I hate it too. But can you interpret the image?'

'Hm…' Batory tilted her head 'If you stand in chains in front of a Muggle general, it means…'

'That guy is a general?' exclaimed Joyce. 'I have seen some Non-Maj officers when I was a kid, they looked like parrots! And that one… look at his plain, grey cloak. He has not been shaving for three days, he has a ripped sleeve… White trash, he is, not a general.'

'Muggles cannot repair their clothes and take care of their looks as easily as we do,' noted Elisabeth. 'So, during a war, they often look rather shabby. And it is a general, I am positive. I can recognise one when I see one. Maybe they don't call him a general, strictly speaking, but he is a leader and a dangerous one to boot.'

'But his uniform is really plain,' said Charlotta. 'And what does he want of Gellert? And who is this Mulatto at Gellert's side?'

'It looks they caused trouble and the general will read them the riot act,' replied Joyce. 'Some of my people were also careless enough to get caught; it happens.'

'The Mulatto is wearing another uniform than Gellert,' noted Charlotta.

'Gellert and a soldier of allied forces got into a fight for a bottle of wine.' Elisabeth smiled. 'It's a common situation.'

'Still, why is he wearing a Muggle uniform?'

'Hiding?' suggested Elisabeth. 'Or he simply wanted not to stick out. We also wear Muggle clothes when we operate in their territory. Joyce, show us some more…'

.

.

The three witches froze when the next image appeared.

.

.

'Stop it!' screamed Charlotta 'Now!'

.

Joyce obeyed.

.

'Arthur on Camelot, what was that?' Lovelace was a tough witch but that… Would Dracula have done that to her if Elisabeth had not stepped in?

'It shouldn't take that long,' said Joyce.

'There is a spell that slows it down,' stated Elisabeth plainly.

The two other witches stared at her in disbelief.

'He used that,' explained Batory. 'It can take a quarter of an hour…'

'You mean Dracula?'

'No.' Elisabeth shook her head. 'His executions were quick and clean. Always an Avada. I meant Altair… My grandfather. He did it to Muggleborns. He taught me…'

'He made you…?'

'No, he was not that mad!' she snapped. 'I was fourteen when he was killed. All he did was teach me the incantation. And I admit I used it.' Batory looked sternly at Charlotta. 'If a filthy squib used Imperio to _seduce _young Muggles, that was the punishment I ordered. Imagine, they didn't even understand why they were tried in the first place. '_It was just a Muggle,_' they said...'

Joyce growled in a very feline fashion.

Charlotta gulped. It was possible to force a magical person towards sex, using curses or potions, but it was inherently dangerous as the magic of the victim could backfire savagely. Moreover, the effect of potions and spells wore off with time and every following dose was weaker than the previous one.

Furthermore, women, regardless of whether they were the victims or the users of the enslaving magic, had an immense risk of dying at childbirth and no one understood why. But Muggles were an easier target…

.

'So that's the end of Gellert…' whispered Joyce.

.

'No,' replied Elisabeth calmly. 'In the first puff, he was clearly older. A powerful wizard can survive worse than an execution attempt. But I would like to see that Muggle general again. There is something… strange about that man.'

.

Freeman fulfilled her wish.

.

_Gellert, filthy and wounded, in torn Muggle uniform, gagged and chained to the chair, glared defiantly at the armed Muggles aiming strange, long guns at him. Charlotta noticed that some of the soldiers had also wands in their hands._

_And said General eyed Gellert with overt suspicion._

_._

_._

'So he knows about us,' growled Joyce. 'That means trouble.'

'He had Gellert…'

'No, Lotta. It's not the marks of torture. Lili got hurt in a brawl, I assume.'

'Can you really tell that?' wondered Charlotta.

'It's elementary,' said Elisabeth. 'It's amazing how much you can read from the shape and the location of injuries. And that man is a warrior kissed by Morrigan. Such people are, as a rule, no sadists, and I can recognise one when I see one. So that General is not the reason of Gellert's injuries, I assume. I think Gellert had overused the Voice which put him in trouble. The Voice easily drains your magical and physical energy away, leaving you defenceless…'

She didn't finish the sentence, as they heard a knock on the door. Joyce's secretary entered.

'Lady von Bayern has flooed, claiming it's a matter of life and death,' she announced.

'Gellert or his brother Ferenc?' asked Batory.

'Both, general.'

'If they survive,' growled Batory, 'I will kick them off the walls of Visegrád straight into the Danube!'

.

_._

_The castle of __Visegrád really exists; the name means roughly 'the castle o top of a hill'; it would be a long fall from its walls down to the Danube…_

_Szent István-bazilika__: St. Stephen`s Basilica in Budapest_


	10. Chapter 10

SnakePrincess101 is my Beta from now on. Thanks!

**Chapter ten**

**The baptism fever**

Ludwiga knew that she should have flooed mind healers in for Gellert; yet, what could she tell them? If she kept the secret, they could have hurt the boy, not understanding the reasons of his problems; if she told the truth, Gellert would be branded as dangerous for the rest of his life – and that could force him upon the path of violence and crime; the path he might have chosen once and was now trying to avoid.

As if it were not enough, the news regarding Gellert`s half-brother Ferenc were dire.

Thus she flooed Baton Rouge, hoping Gellert`s other great-grandmothers would come with some solutions.

As asked, other great-grandmothers, Elisabeth, Joyce and Charlotta, gathered around the fireplace, watching her in apprehension.

`What happened?` Elisabeth did not even bother to waste her time for a `_good morning_` `Has MACUSA already…`

`They have` Replied Ludwiga.

`And I`ve been telling him not to…` Hissed Elisabeth angrily.

`What are you talking about? ` Asked Charlotta.

`Ferenc. Johnson. That. Fool.` Explained Elisabeth, `Has. Disregarded. My. Explicit. Orders. In a nutshell,` her expression remained wooden, `MACUSA has just sentenced him to death. `

`And that`s why you have been studying American maps?` Charlotta asked rhetorically in understanding, `But he`s… he`s just seventeen! `

`Sixteen.` Corrected Elisabeth, `So what? Mirko was also sixteen when I have met him for the first time. And that had not hindered…`

`I know! ` Charlotta interrupted her.

Why compare the innocent Ferenc to that Dracula beast? Well, at that young age, both were innocent. Till the law machine turned them into criminals…

`But MACUSA is not the same as…` She continued.

`Well, they have some standards,` snorted Elisabeth in disdain, `Ferenc will not be tortured, just murdered. And don`t look at me like that, it is not an execution. It is a politically motivated murder. MACUSA cannot reach me, Joyce, the Queens or the Johnsons, so they attack Ferenc instead. They want to kill him for the deeds of his ancestors. And I must admit that the matter is highly… volatile. We must be careful. `

`He is our great-grandson! How can you-`

`Not yours, Charlotta, only mine and Joyce`s` Elisabeth remained calm, `And this is the problem. Do you really think they have any solid proof against him? A newbie Auror would realise he could not murder that squibbish Crow. `

`So who did?'

`Me.` retorted Elisabeth bluntly, `Ferenc only transported one of the Ludwiga's lethifolds to New York, without even knowing what he had in his trunk. He just handed it over to the one who did the job. Yet, it was my idea and my orders. If not all that trouble caused by Gellert flying all over Europe on Boruta`s back, and the measures I had taken to protect him, I would have entrusted someone else with the transport. But… if that little Scottish girl was saved…` she trailed off.

`You think she would have died without Lili`s help? And now, to balance the magic, someone else must die instead?` Asked Joyce.

`Don`t call him Lilli, it`s ridiculous!` Moaned Charlotta.

`Oh, Lotta, he`s my little boy… Gellert sounds so serious… But El,` Joyce turned back to Elisabeth, `Do you think someone has to die… instead? That those Non-Majs would have killed the girl? `

`How can I know?` Retorted Elisabeth, `Still, we have a week to save Ferenc. Let`s hope Magic is not against us…`

`Gellert is also in dire danger.` Interrupted Ludwiga, `It seems… Like he had attempted to cast the Nibelungen Curse.`

Elisabeth hissed through clenched teeth. `That would explain a lot.` She murmured.

`And it seems to me,` Continued Ludwiga, `That he got stuck in his memories. All I could extract from his mind is a graveyard with trees, a city burned to ashes and… I am not sure; it resembled a horrible explosion.`

`A graveyard with trees?` Said Elisabeth, `The Batory graveyard, I assume. He seems to like to dabble with the Dark Arts…`

`Like you.` Snorted Charlotta.

`Like me, Charlotta, like me,` Retorted Elisabeth, `It's hereditary, then. Ludwiga, floo the healers in. Now.`

`But what can I tell them? That we suspect a temporal leap basing on a controversial theory that, by the way, predicts that the preparation to said leap would take a millennium, so that it would be impossible anyhow? The Aurors would get suspicious. So what should I do? His fever is soaring, he keeps babbling about a burnt opera, about treason…`

Joyce, who had been following the discussion in silence, jerked.

`Maybe it`s the baptism fever.` She said in a quite voice. The other witches stared at her, surprised.

`Explain,` Demanded Elisabeth, straddling her chair, as if it were a horse.

Charlotta knew what it meant: Elisabeth was ready to take action.

Joyce, in turn, leaned back on her chair, folding her hand at her nape.

`A long, long time ago,` She started slowly, `There was a little black girl. The girl, however, was not a good, obedient girl, shame on her. And one day, when a drunken white pushed his hands under her dress, she turned into a jaguar. Even normal jaguars crack the shells of turtles and bite through gator skulls, so that you can imagine what a monster half a tonne heavy did to the head of that white trash.`

`Joyce,` Snapped Ludwiga, `Please, be concise. We all know your opinion about Muggles.`

`So… The little girl… the predatory beast hid in the swamps where she soon found similar monsters,` Joyce continued calmly with a stead pace, `And I think all I say matters. The Jaguar met Isabelle whose father wanted her to marry a man forty years older. Well, her family had a pile of dishonoured bills and the wannabe betrothed was their main creditor, you understand. And the man wanted to test the quality of his newest buy straight away… He was used to that, he has been a slave trader. Oh, and that was his last mistake because this time he groped a witch. And then the witches met Étiennette, Ninni, who worked in a glove manufacture. Her boss got interested in her, which was his last mistake. Lotta, don`t stare at me like that, this story is all about… undergarments and what is inside them.` She gave the other witch a twisted smile. `So, to cut the long story short, then came Margaret and her sister Hannah, their step-father, being drunk… you understand. His last mistake. And, last but not least, the young master Ethan and his slave Andre…`

`We know.` Snapped Charlotta. `Mistakes.`

`Oh, no, no!` Retorted Joyce, `Our Ethan, I mean. Lord Pendragon. So, the young mister Ethan and his slave Andre found one another attractive. And, well, if it had been just a little dirty secret of a respectable young gentleman, Ethan`s father would have tolerated it. But Ethan was such a bookworm…`

`Joyce, be concise!`

`And, you know, it was the romantic time. Byron, Scott, Burns, those folks… Having read all that, Ethan came to an idiotic idea to fall in love, with a slave to boot, not wise for a young man of his stand. Andre was no wiser and those fools swore eternal love to each other, till death do them part. It didn't last too long, till they got parted, Andre had no war luck at all… Anyhow, they had not realised at that time that they were wizards but magic did its job nonetheless. And when Ethan`s father saw his only heir…`

`Joyce, come to the conclusion!`

She growled in annoyance before continuing, `Well, when his preferences became too visible… And his political views not reasonable… In a nutshell, to protect Ethan`s reputation and bring him back to the path of virtue and reason, his caring father sold Andre to the very gentlemen whose skull you see in front of you.` Joyce pointed at the shisha. `And he liked black boys, too. The oath… the magic behind it went berserk. Ethan claims it resembled the Four Riders Curse, though it was smaller… Still, they must have really been in love to achieve-`

`Still, what does it have to do with that baptism?` Barked Elisabeth, she was growing more inpatient by the minute.

`Well, we were hiding in the swamps and Ethan read books to us. He was the only one from our original pack who was literate, you see. And he could speak English, French, German and even Latin!`

`But what does it have to do-`

`He read novels.` Joyce ignored Charlotta`s question. `The Bible. The true one, not that fake one for slaves. Newspapers, if we managed to get any. Lives of saints and martyrs, that was popular at the time. A splendid lecture, I tell you. Gushy, bloody, sadistic tales about muscly young soldiers and beautiful virgins, who got perversely…`

`Joyce!`

`…stripped, tied up and so on, and so forth. It could give you ideas,` She smiled wickedly, `I wonder why the cook of Mrs Jones had been reading that crap so passionately, she was such a warm, kind person… Though, seeing how she wielded her steak knife…` Joyce trailed off again in memory.

`Joyce!`

`Fine, fine! So Ethan read to us whatever we managed to get.` Joyce used her shisha again, this time to show a memory.

_._

_The Moon shone brightly through the tree branches; a group of teens sat around a campfire, pulling hot potatoes out of the ash. Tea was steaming in chipped cups. A boy with blond curls and delicate features sat on a toppled tree trunk, reading aloud, his companions listening with rapt attention. The only sign of magic in that peaceful scene was a sphere of light the reader conjured to illuminate the text._

.

Charlotta felt nauseous. Ethan – the reader – could not have been older than fifteen at that moment and he looked the oldest of them all. The `pack` were all children! And Joyce had just crudely explained why those children were hiding in the forest.

Sure, when Charlotta joined general Johnson, he informed her about the `circumstances` of the Joyce`s rebellion. Yet it had been later, when Joyce was seventeen, not twelve, it did not look that… That abnormal.

Furthermore, Charlotta still remembered her first encounter with `Lord Pendragon`, when Johnson managed to capture him. Ethan was a man of twenty, tall, brawny, strong like a draught-horse, a hardened, insidious criminal.

He was a savage warrior, clad in black, his clothes adorned with Celtic, Mayan, Aztec and Norse runes, carrying amulets sparking with dangerous magic, a full-fledged warlock capable of throwing, without a wand, fire balls breaking through stone walls.

Merlin, he even painted his face in black, yellow and red stripes and it was an honest warning - `red on yellow kills the fellow` – as he would bite if you came close to him and the bite of a rebel was deadly. Johnson wondered who sold them such a powerful toothpaste…

Was Ethan once the sentimental kid, reading novels for his friends in the moonlight?

Charlotta remembered a chained, seething animal, trying to break free, trying to curse them to hell, to rip them apart.

Well, she mused, anyone expecting to be tortured to death would have attempted just anything to escape.

Yet the wrath, the madness, the sheer force of Ethan were shocking, somehow inhuman. It was not just muscle, it was savage, raw magic.

_Stop that, she scolded herself. You have thrown your principles off the window to avoid Dracula`s tender mercies, remember? Was that more human what you had done under Elisabeth`s orders? Yes, you just wanted to save your skin and protect your friends; he had wanted just the same. Oh, stop!_

Anyhow she finally learnt how come a bunch of illiterate kids came to the idea to nickname Ethan `Lord Pendragon`. He must have read them some Arthurian legends.

`Once he read about pirates` continued Joyce, unaware of Charlotta`s musings, `Their captain was a rebel slave, so we liked the story straight away. And those pirates had a custom to give the new crew members new names. You know, to underline that the man was no more a slave or a servant, but a warrior. New life, new name.`

`And you did the same?` Asked Charlotta.

`And can you imagine a slave called Freeman, Lotta?` Retorted Joyce.

`Touché.`

`_Und wo ist der langen Rede kurzer Sinn_?` Ludwiga waved her hands impatiently, sending puffs of ash in the air, `What are you aiming at? Cut the story short.`

`_Der langen Rede preussicher Sinn_` Replied Joyce calmly, `Cutting the story Prussian, we also made such ceremonies. We jumped over the bonfire, cut tattoos into our skin and yelled aloud that we renounce our previous lives. And it worked this way, literally. Whoever did that, got a fever, babbled rubbish, raved and woke up with nice big holes in the memories. What you renounce, you lose. It looked bad, I tell you. And we were just children! If an old man renounced his life, his mind must go berserk, haywire and upside down.`

`It makes sense,` nodded Elisabeth, `And how can such a person be helped?`

`We didn`t know why it happens,` replied Joyce, `Only now it is clear to me what we did… Well, we just kept the newbies company till they healed. And it always went well, in the end.`

`But after a lifetime… a long lifetime… who knows?` Charlotta was not that optimistic.

`I bring some of his cousins to accompany him,` said Ludwiga, `And let`s hope Gellert had known what he did. You take care of Ferenc and let me know if I could be of any help. I will keep putting pressure on the MACUSA`s ambassador… Just, Elisabeth… It`s your great-grandson and my relative as well but a war…`

`There will be no war` retorted Elisabeth curtly, `I am more a general than a human.`

`I am not sure,` whispered Ludwiga to herself, having interrupted the Floo connection, `Which one is more dangerous. Elisabeth the Gran or general Batory.`

Meanwhile, in Baton Rouge, a door sprang open, pushed with a strong hand. `What happened to my boys?` Ethan appeared in the doorway, panting.

`El, should we tell him?`

`Well, we should. Ferenc and Gellert are his great-grandsons as well. I also told Hekate and Ferenc… Ferenc Batory, I mean, my uncle. Ethan, we have a problem…`

.

.

Gellert was trashing, yelling, swearing, raving.

Joyce`s advice had not worked, seemingly, though Gellert had plenty of cousins of different grades – no wonder, Elisabeth alone had nine daughters and wizarding families hanged together. Yet, the presence of other children didn`t help at all.

Ludwiga and Hekate Grindelwald – Elisabeth`s closest friend and relative (Ludwiga was not that sure how they were related – Elisabeth was somehow related to half of the magical world, after all) wondered what to do?

`Who could that Adolf be that he would like to send to hell?` wondered Hekate, `Maybe, if we found him…`

`He might not be even born yet,` noted Ludwiga `And the name is quite common…`

`But the surname is not. Eisenhauer*.`

`And what do you want to do once you find him?`

Hekate did not reply. They did not know enough to act. And who knew whether Gellert`s words made any sense at all?

`Good thing I`m old,` said Hekate finally, `The twentieth century will be horrible, good I will not be there to see it.`

`Is the ninetieth a better time? But, unless we do something, the twentieth century will not include Gellert.`

Hekate paced to and fro nervously.

`Assuming general Freeman is right… What were they doing differently?`

`Well, she was not precise,` sighed Ludwiga, `She just said that they did not leave the sick one alone. That the presence of new friends helped the newbie to embrace the new life.`

Hekate halted abruptly.

`Friends. New-life friends,` she said, `Maybe that was the difference. Someone linked to the new life only, not relatives that he knew before. You said this Scottish girl…`

` Dumbledore. Ariana Dumbledore.`

`This name rings a bell…`

`It`s an old family,` explained Ludwiga, `Also, Elisabeth and the father of the girl…met before. He still has a scar on his face. Maybe you remember him? A red-headed, tall man, Percival was his name.`

`Oh, not really,` smiled Hekate, `Elisabeth, as you said, met lots of people. After all, her longest break between the wars was just two years. `

`I know. It`s my fault,` sighed Ludwiga, `God, if not me, her career would have not been ruined and she would have never joined Dracula.`

`She had met him before. She had saved his life when he was still a kid. You are not to blame,` retorted Hekate, `The bond between them had already existed when she got to prison because of helping you. She has never walked the straight path, Ludwiga. I have been accompanying her since she was fourteen and I still find her unpredictable. With or without you she would have joined him, I believe, and make him great. Or killed him.`

`With Elisabeth,` sighed Ludwiga, `One does not contradict the other… She was always so… restless. Always planning, plotting, fighting. And her family life! Nine daughters! How come she managed to have so many?`

`She never waited for peace to get pregnant, Ludwiga. Say, Yastrebsky, you know him, I assume?`

Oh, sure, thought Ludwiga, Hermenegildo Yastrebsky, called Gildo, the handsome New York Seeker…

It was when Dracula got hellbent on conquering New York for the second time. He was already losing ground, his end was just a question of time. Yet, as many a falling ruler, he just refused to accept the facts, he believed it was just a dry spell, that he would triumph again. And in a whim of a tyrant, demanded the conquest of the city. And Elisabeth delivered, as usual. The rumour had it that she even duelled one of her fellow generals to be chosen for the task.

Ludwiga did not believe such a nonsense – why should anyone risk a deadly duel only to be burdened with a nearly impossible mission? And to risk the wrath of the enemy when the war was over? Why should Elisabeth have done that? Unless there was a well-hidden reason to do so, of course, which was never to exclude...

Anyhow, somehow, Elisabeth managed, by curse and treason. And then she strut proudly through the taken city with that Gildo boy.

That was, at the first glance, nothing strange. Powerful witches are always followed by a horde of go-getters, daredevils, toy-boys, spies, wannabes, arrivistes and admirers, like nundus are stalked by smaller animals, hoping to get scraps off the big cat`s prey.

Yet, at a second glance, something was fishy. Dracula was already weak at that time. Gildo, getting involved with Elisabeth, openly admitted his treason to MACUSA, risking not only his sport career, but his life.

Ludwiga would understand if he had attempted, by flattering Elisabeth, to get his relatives out of Dracula`s prison. Or to spy on her. Yet none was the case.

Moreover, Elisabeth was a man-eater and none of her husbands or lovers ever managed to have influence on her. It was her who chose them for her means and a man attempting to coax her into anything would be discarded without a second thought.

Anyhow, why Gildo? Elisabeth preferred mature men and even if she suddenly wanted a teen, she had dozens of zealous admirers in her own army. And dozens of politicians did not even hide their attempts to push their grandsons or younger cousins into her bed. Elisabeth could be picky.

Ludwiga sighed. No, there was a false bottom in this story for sure. This love affair was so ostentatious! Elisabeth and Gildo went to the New York opera with that lush carriage of Batory family, they ate in best restaurants, showing their affection like a pair of kids, in love for the first time in their lives.

Yet, it was not in the nature of Elisabeth to wear her heart on her sleeve. She did not like all that luxury, glitter and sweet-talk. There was a false bottom in that, maybe even two.

Ludwiga was positive there was something deeply magical between this so uneven couple. Even after all those years, Gildo always expressed his deepest respect to Elisabeth, refusing to comment on their past. And Elisabeth, in turn, duelled anyone who dared insult the man. And she duelled the hard, Prussian way.

`Oh,` said Ludwiga aloud with a sneer, `How could I forget such a scandal? The Quidditch pride of New York, hand in hand with the enemy top general? More than forty years older than him? `

`Yet, that was a beautiful story,` sighed Hekate, `But coming back to the point, Elisabeth again got pregnant in the middle of the war. At her age, she was seventy-two!`

Indeed, though wizards lived longer than Muggles and aged substantially slower – a wizard of eighty was at the top of his powers – a pregnancy over sixty-five was a late one.

`Dracula didn`t care,` growled Hekate grimly, `She worked like an Abraxan. The Brits had captured her three days before her daughter was born. She was wounded, ill, exhausted… The Brits panicked. It looked so bad they thought she would die and Dracula would make a martyr out of her. They nearly cursed my head off… They wanted me to tell them what potions she had taken, what curses she had been exposed to… As if she ever talked about such stuff! Fools.`

`And yet, she bolted a week after the birth, leaving the kid to the British,` pointed Ludwiga out, `You both did. And she did not slow down, right?`

Hekate`s face darkened but what should she say? The truth? It was better if the world believed Elisabeth was a bad mother and a fervent general than to disclose the truth, a war truth even more cruel and disgusting than that filthy gossip.

Ludwiga realised that she hit a wound spot. Well, it was also her wound spot. Elisabeth had nine daughters, and seemingly had never experienced any problems with regard to conception, pregnancy or birth. Ludwiga managed to bring only one daughter to term, after a series of miscarriages. It was with her third husband – and it was a miracle she found one after the two previous ones had divorced her for infertility. How she envied Elisabeth who got pregnant whenever she wanted and did not even realise how fortunate she was!

Ludwiga heard that Elisabeth did not even show up at the deathbed of her firstborn, being too busy with yet another siege. And to be clear, she was the party laying siege, not the besieged one, so taking a day off would be possible. But maybe that was just hearsay Elisabeth did not even try to eradicate; after all, the image of an ardent, ruthless general suited her goals perfectly.

`Well,` hissed Hekate angrily, `You think Elisabeth… Well… Anyhow, we are taking old skeletons off the closet instead of taking care of the sick child. Shame on us,` she changed the subject, `So that Dumbeldoor…`

`Dumbledore.` corrected Ludwiga.

`Is he on good terms with Elisabeth?`

`They seem to respect one another at least. And now, after Gellert had helped Ariana, I think he can be considered as friendly.`

`So let`s fetch her here. The girl, I mean.`

`It`s four in the morning.`

`Gellert cannot wait any longer.`

Ludwiga nodded and ordered to harness her fastest carriage.

.

.

_* I know it was EisenhOWer, not EisenhAUer, but the name is of German origin and that`s how Ludwiga would have spelled it._

_And, as German, she would link a very German family name and a very German first name together…_

_._

_._

_As to wizarding fertility issues: the childhood and puberty seem to have the same time frame as in the real world. On the other hand, they live much longer and Dumbledore, being hundred-something, seems old but still fit enough to scare Voldy out of his pants. Moreover, JK Rowling mentioned that on average a British wizarding folk reaches 130. In average, meaning many live longer._

_So I assumed the adult-but-not-old-yet phase should simply last much longer than in Muggles as otherwise most of their life would be just old age. So Elisabeth pregnant at seventy-two would be at `our` age of forty-five or so. Quite late but still within the physiological span._


	11. Chapter 11

_Let me start this time with explanations as they are important to understand the situation._

_In Russian the polite form to address someone is first name + son of / daughter of + father`s name. The surname is not used._

_Referring to famous people or when everyone realises who is meant, the surname is often skipped, so that a Russian would rather say Vladimir Ilyich than Vladimir Ulyanov (and everyone knows Lenin was meant)._

_So Grindelwald will be called Gellert Lokich (Gellert, son of Loki). Constantine Ilyich is Constantine, son of Elijah._

_Those are official and polite forms. "Kostya" is the familiar form of Constantine, used among friends._

_._

_The Copper Rider, aka Peter Alekseevich Romanov (so his daddy was Alexei / Alexis), aka tsar Peter the Great, really existed. At the very end of 17th century he travelled all over Europe, paying a visit to Oxford and Amsterdam, among others._

_Whether he met sir Isaac Newton, no idea, the latter working at Cambridge. Yet both gentlemen dabbled in alchemy and astrology, and were extraordinary minds, fascinated with science and technology (the first technological revolution taking off at the time). So why not? (imaging them as a 18th century Grindeldore version __ )_

_The "Copper Rider" is Peter`s monument in Sankt Petersburg, Russia._

_._

_Sankt Petersburg means St Peter`s City in German, BTW. Then, during the WWI the name was translated into Russian (Petrograd) and 1924 the city was named Leningrad. 1991 the old name returned. In everyday language, one calls it simply "Piter"._

_Lavrentiy Pavlovich Beria, aka Stalin`s Himmler, was one of the most heinous apparatchiks of the epoque (thirties to fifties)._

_Cheka (All-Russian ExtraordinaryCommission for Combating Counter-Revolution and Sabotage), the Soviet political police. The policemen were called chekists._

_._

_Last but not least, Volga was a Soviet car make, mostly used by middle grade Soviet officials. Though Grindelwald could not possess it in the original timeline, Volga Akula (the shark) being produced in the late fifties, that would be THE car for a Dark Lord, for the following reason:_

_The black Volga urban legend, widespread in once communist countries, refers to the black Volga car abducting / causing death of those who encounter it. The car may be driverless, or driven by the Devil, vampires, Satanists, Russian mafia, KGB officers, a pair of priests, nuns in black or (in the latest version circulating) women in black wearing niqabs. The origin of the legend may be Beria himself who allegedly would go for a ride in his limousine, looking for his next victim, pointing at girls he wanted brought to him._

_Last but not least, "Wo Recht zu Unrecht wird…" __Grindi stole from Bertold Brecht._

**Chapter 11**

**Peter the Rider**

Ludwiga had ordered to harness a swift Granian to a light cabriolet and was about to take off when she noticed a man approaching the palace on a broomstick.

Hermenegildo. Ludwiga greeted him with a forced smile.

`What wind brings you here, Gildo?` She eyed him with suspicion.

The wizard flew closer, made an elegant loop and stayed upside down, looking straight in her face.

`And what do you think I should do? Chase the Snitch?` he retorted, `When Gellert is sick and Ferenc in prison? They are my grandsons!`

`Being an offspring of a traitor and an occupant…`

`It`s not his fault!`

`Of course,` agreed Ludwiga, `But it makes Ferenc`s situation dire. However…` she hesitated for a moment, `I think we… you could help Gellert at least.`

`I`m all ears,` Gildo flipped backwards to sit upright.

`You can reach Scotland faster than me in the cabriolet, right?`

`Without an extra load, I can be in Edinburgh in two hours legally. Faster, if you agree that I break the law. You tell me the address and the task to fulfil, madam, and consider it done.`

`But you mustn't tell anyone…`

Gildo snorted indignantly.

`All my life I`ve been serving the greatest generals of the world,` he stated proudly, `I know when to shut up. Once even,` His lips twitched in disgust, `I have been put under Legilimency for the whole night. In Paris. They didn`t rip a word out of me. I can also tell lies under… difficult circumstances. But this I charge triple,` he grinned sarcastically.

_Oh, the man was more than a dandy and a toy boy, thought Ludwiga. She should have known better. A pretty face was not enough to attract Batory…_

She looked at him with a mixture of admiration and compassion.

`I need to contact the Dumbledore family. I write you the address down…`

.

Gellert was trashing in his bed, screaming. He had been a fool thinking History would give up without a fight. He had been a fool thinking it would give up at all.

_Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa_. It was all his fault. What had he done? He had killed Germany and that was much worse than a matricide.

He had understood quite early that `_der Führer_` would be a problem so he decided to get rid of him.

What a mistake. He had known that a wizard could not manipulate the Muggle history straightforwardly but still attempted to… support the Muggles who could, who dared challenge the monstrous machine of destruction.

And his `help` had just killed them, just killed Germany.

_Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa_. It was all his fault.

The world had been burning and he, the powerful wizard, was punching the walls of his cells in futile furry.

He had let Germany die, 1945. He had let Hungary bleed, 1956. He had left Russia to the bloodiest regime in the whole of History.

And he, the powerful, cunning warlock had been trapped like a rat. Unable to act, the magic, protecting Muggle history making any wizard intervention impossible. How blind he must have been, not seeing the brewing disaster? Dumbledore should have cursed him dead. He had deserved nothing but death.

But why had the wizards of old been so arrogant, so short-sighted, blocking the possibility of any magical intervention in the Muggle affairs?

Well, they had had a point. If the magical folk meddled in Muggle affairs, every Muggle conflict could spread to the wizarding world. In the end, the wizards and witches of old protected more of their own kind than Muggles. Yet it had not crossed their minds that one day Muggles may shake the world and should be stopped for the greater good of mankind, Muggles and wizards alike.

He should have known better. He should have gone to Aachen, to the throne of Charlemagne and rewrite the magic pattern of Europe there. He should have.

In a more sane moment, he mocked himself. What was the use of locking the stable door when Pegasus has bolted? What was the point to brood over the inexistent past?

He WILL have to do the right thing here, that was the only thing that still mattered. Otherwise…

He has not forgotten how the History crushed both Muggles and wizards.

The memories whirled throwing him back there. He did not quite remember when it was… 1938?

.

_December 1938, Leningrad, USSR_

_He had burnt so much of the midnight oil that night… So he was not in the best of moods when he awoke at four in the morning._

_`General, I am sorry for disturbing you,` said one of his guards, who had shaken him awake (not without difficulty), `But this seems important.`_

_`Are we under assault?` barked Grindelwald, still drowsy. `At Christmas Eve? Are they mad?`_

_`No, no, general. Constantine Ilyich is at our doorstep and asks for five minutes.`_

_`What?`_

_`Constantine Ilyich Strekozov, general. The Auror. It must be important…`_

_`Tell him I`m not home. If he wants to detain me,` spat Grindelwald, `Are they all mad? It`s Christmas Eve, don't they have families?`_

_`According to the orthodox calendar, it`s still one week to go till Christmas,` replied the guard calmly, `And he has come alone and insists…`_

_`Let him in then!` decided Grindelwald._

_Grindelwald dressed and combed his hair carefully, letting Strekozov wait. It could be a trap, Strekozov being a cunning, zealous and brave Auror. Yet, it could be also an opportunity… Whatever the purpose of this strange visit could be, waiting made the opponent more nervous; weaker. Thus easier to tackle._

_Petersburg could be renamed to Leningrad but it changed nothing of its horrible autumns with their endless nights. To boot, it was raining heavily. Strekozov stood, facing the window, mindlessly watching the water run down the glass._

_`Constantine Ilyich,` barked Grindelwald, not bothering with any politeness. `You are a warrior, be concise, then. What brings you here in the middle of the night?`_

_The Auror, who had not noticed him, jerked. Turning towards him without a word, he fell to his knees._

_If he had wanted to surprise Grindelwald, he managed._

_`Constantine Ilyich,` hissed Gellert, `I am a general, not a Muggle king! An anyhow, personal cult is in at the Cremlin, not here! Stand up and tell me what is going on. Now.`_

_The Auror did not even look up._

_`They took my father,` he whispered hoarsely, `And his two brothers and my niece… Please… Your grandmother Batory would have…`_

_`I have not fallen that low yet!` roared Grindelwald, `To kidnap relatives of Aurors! If they had drunken too much and cannot find their way home, it`s their own fault! Go and find them before they get drown in the Neva River!`_

_`I mean, not in Piter. In Moscow. My niece… He noticed her. They took the whole family to Lubyanka…` The Auror`s voice trembled._

_Oh. It explained a lot. But not everything._

_`You are Muggleborn, aren`t you?` asked Grindelwald, understanding slowly dawning in his mind._

_The Auror nodded. Gellert clenched his teeth. He knew how dangerous both magical and Muggle Moscow was. That was a trap._

_`You are telling me, Constantine Ilyich, that the MoM cannot protect families of wizards from a bunch of checkists?` he mocked,_ _`Tell it to the Aurors! My brother in magic,` he added with a silky voice, `Don`t try my patience. I am no Beria, but…`_

_Strekozov looked up, tear appearing in his eyes._

_`Beria. He noticed her,` he croaked, `And she`s only twelve… General, please…`_

_The Jaguar roared so that the whole house shook violently and the window glass exploded with a deafening bang. The cold, wet air gushed into the room._

_Gellert swayed, overwhelmed by the Jaguar`s outburst. He was positive that he had not said a word, made no gesture, that the Jaguar was just in his mind, yet… The curse-proof glass was smitten to dust, by Hela! It had not happened in a long, long time that the raw magic took over like that. No wonder, he thought, great-grandma Joyce was also twelve when she was attacked by a lousy man. And that girl, being a Muggle, had no fangs to defend herself._

_Still, the shadow of Joyce`s wrath was shocking even for him. Joyce could be dead, but her thirst for revenge was clearly not quenched yet. He had to do something, or else…_

_Well, at least he could be sure that there was no trap; just the Soviet meat grinder had trapped yet another innocent victim. Still, it was not necessarily good news, that the enemy was Cheka, not Aurors, the Muggle world being not less perilous than the wizarding one._

_Constantine Ilyich, deafened with the explosion, looked at Grindelwald in pure terror, trembling._

_`But I`m not the master of Lubyanka,` sighed Gellert, `And why, in the first place, don`t you get her out yourself? You cannot kill Beria, but saving a simple prisoner is possible for an Auror,` he added with a gentler tone._

_Strekozov shook his head, rain droplets and glass grains glittering in his hair in candlelight._

_`Geller Lokich, you must have heard about the latest amendment regarding the Secrecy Statue. There is no way to enter a Muggle_ _prison without breeching the wards of the third level. One of my_ _colleagues tried a few days ago and she had not even reached the building. And she was imprisoned for ten years for the attempt. There is no other way… Please, please, I will obey you like an Inferius, but do something!`_

_`What I would not force out of you with a hundred curses, those bureaucrats managed with two lines on the parchment,` growled Grindelwald, feeling murderous wrath of a predator billowing in his soul again._

_Sure, he had already recognised the opportunity to win the Auror`s heart and soul. Still, watching him trembling and begging was bitter. It was like looking at a splendid war Pegasus with shattered wings and broken backbone. Deeply sad, even if the Pegasus belonged to the enemy._

_What should he do? He was no angel, he had already compromised his ideals, all but one._

Wo Recht zu Unrecht wird, wird Widerstand zur Pflicht, Gehorsam aber Verbrechen!

_If injustice becomes law, resistance becomes a duty, and obedience - a crime._

_That was… used to be the true Greater Good. He had not forgotten it all yet, before it all degenerated into a war for supremacy… and then pure survival. But there was no quick and clean solution to the problem. Only the darkest of the Dark Arts could help._

_`Kostya,` purred Gellert with a twisted smile, `I think we could do it. Yet, if the wards of the third level are in place… Blood magic would be the only solution that works fast enough.`_

_`So kill me, general.`_

_Gellert snorted._

_`Oh, Kostya, I mean you taking their place and me the place of Beria,' He smiled, showing his teeth. `Not that I am a great fan of such solution but, well… Still, it would be a pity to waste such a splendid body but if you insist…` He sighed theatrically._

_`You must be joking. Sir.` Croaked the Auror._

_`One does not fool with the magic of sacrifice, Kostya,` Replied Grindelwald sternly, `Whatever has a value, has a price as well.`_

_He was not joking, of course, there was nothing funny in his words. He was lying. There was no need to hurt the Auror – and there was no point of hurting him as he would join the Greater Good and serve it fanatically, if Grindelwald saved his family._

_Yet for the magic to work he had to agree to the sacrifice. Once in his heart he accepted the pain, the magic would consider the sacrifice done but he could not be told that till his family would be rescued._

_`So do what has to be done, Gellert Lokich.`_

_`So give me your hand, Kostya,` ordered Grindelwald, `Come on, I_ _will not rip your arm off.`_

_The Auror stretched his hand, slowly, cautiously. Hardly had they fingers brushed when the blue magical flame erupted out of nowhere, wrapping around their arms up to the shoulders. Gellert pronounced the incantation slowly and clearly, ignoring the Jaguar trashing inside his soul, impatient to be set free and kill._

_`On more thing,` Grindelwald added, pulling a knife out. Strekozov clenched his teeth._

_`It`s just a shallow cut to transfer your sacrifice upon me. The rest of the... agreement comes when I will have done my part. If I fail to do it before noon, you are free.`_

_The Auror did not look so sure about that._

_`One does not tamper with the sacrifice magic,` continued Grindelwald with a straight face, `If I fail, no one will even try to stop you.`_

_Slowly, carefully, only to cut only the skin. He ran the blade along the Auror`s neck, from the nape to the sternum. Strekozov tensed, clenching his fists and teeth, but did not fight back._

_Without a warning, Gellert pushed him against the wall, grabbing his hair brutally, forcing Strekozov to lift his chin. Then, he pressed his mouth against the wound, sucking the blood like a vampire. He felt the Auror trembling of fear and disgust, fighting the urge to free himself._

_Grindelwald felt the magic whirl, making him high. He could stay like that for ever… Yet, he was well too experienced to get inebriated that easily. When it was enough, Gellert let the Auror go and stepped back._

_`My grandmother Batory taught me,` he explained, feeling blood running down his chin. `Ugly, but fast and powerful. Now I can speak with the power of your sacrifice. Let`s go, we must fly to Moscow right now, it works for three hours only. If we are late and the madman has the girl brought to the Kremlin, we are in trouble. You would need an army to get inside, Muggle or wizarding way.`_

_`But… I heard several of the tsars were wizards. If we… you could ask them, their portraits, for help… They must hate Stalin, general!`_

_`You are not the first one to think about that,` replied Grindelwald, wiping the blood off his face. `My great-grandmother Batory once asked. The answer was: `I was a tsar, I never broke into the Kremlin, I always took the main gate.' He had a point, after all… 'Let`s us go and fetch the horse.`_

_`A horse?`_

_`Well, I send some support with my Volga Akula, it`s a splendid machine,` explained Grindelwald, `But we take the horse of Peter Alekseevich. He was my great… Wait. My great-great-great-great-grandfather.`_

_`But how can you borrow a painted horse, general?`_

_`Painted? Cast, I assume… No curse works against him, what a stallion... And he loves blood. My grandad bears a grudge against the Soviet government, and for a good reason. He doesn't mind is a few chekists get ripped apart. He never minded some bloodshed, anyhow…`_

_Constantine finally understood whom Grindelwald was talking about._

_`You mean Peter Alexeevich, Gellert Lokich? The Copper Rider?` He asked, wide-eyed._

_`Indeed. You must have heard that with Catherine, his second wife, he had a dozen of children who officially died in infancy. It was their magical children. Peter and Catherine wanted them to grow up in our world from the very beginning. Being Muggleborns themselves, they wanted an easier start for their offspring.`_

_`But why? They lived among Muggles themselves… At least in the beginning.`_

_`And what would you prefer to be, Kostya?` snorted Grindelwald, `A tsar or a MoM clerk? He was a tsarevich, born to reign. How could he accept to live among wizards, where his blood status prohibited any political career? I mean, a real career, not just being a head of some lesser department. Anyhow, why should he have toiled for any career in the first place if he could simply put a crown on his head as a teen? Come on, can you imagine a tsarevich as an inferior to a son of, say, a wizarding shopkeeper? A mere commoner who would consider himself something better, being pureblooded? And at that time it was accepted among Muggles to dabble with alchemy or astrology, no one found his hobbies suspicious, then…`_

_`Astrology? Necromancy,` murmured Strekozov to himself._

_`As well,` agreed Grindelwald, `His lab books are fascinating! He corresponded with Newton, imagine! Their letters are so inspiring! I cannot tell which of them was a greater genius! By the way, he invented the Cruciatus Curse. Peter, I mean, not Isaac. Don`t look at me like that, Kostya. If you read what was the standard methods at the time… Officially used and legal methods, I mean. Compared to that, Cruciatus is at least easy to heal, when not overdosed. A good beer will do. No puzzling bones together, no liver rupture to patch…`_

_`You treat post-cruciastus with beer, general?` Strekozov could not believe his ears._

_`With radler, preferably based on porter. I sometimes add a shot of whiskey to it. Or slivovitz, yum.`_

_`You treat post-cruciastus with shandy?` gasped the Auror._

_`Oh, it works well. I have tested it many times. A Doppler mug of the mixture – it`s about four pints – works miracles,` nodded Grindelwald._

_Strekozov had known Grindelwald is something like Peter – genial, but cruel and ready to sacrifice just anyone for his goals. Still, to torture people only to test such a medicament on them…_

_Grindelwald misunderstood his facial expression._

_`Four pints with slivovitz is a dosage for me, for my hundred seventy pounds, and the body cursed so many times that no potion works correctly anymore with me. Your body would respond to a pint, I assume, you are smaller and not so much worn out by curses.`_

.

Percival Dumbledore was an Unspeakable and like every experimental scientist sometimes worked at strange hours. Tonight, Big Ben had just struck two, when Percival, rubbing his stiff neck, could finally Apparate home. Good Kendra showed understanding to his irregular schedule; after all, she also often had to collect her plants at midnight or at moonrise…

Having jutted the notes on a piece of parchment, he checked again whether no danger was luring in the lab. No artefact left unlocked, no drops of potions soiling the equipment, no curse left unextinguished. No Unspeakable who lived to tell the tale could be sloppy or negligent.

Finally, he headed towards the exit.

`Percy!` Someone called his name. He stopped, surprised.

`Mrs Prewett?` He asked, `I thought you were away… `

`Indeed,` nodded the ex-Auroress, `I know it`s late but could you join me for a moment?`

Constantia Prewett, after twenty-five years of service as Auroress has sacrificed her life to magical theory; her publications about the nature of the magical core of wands having raised interest all over the world.

Still, Percival was sure that she was not going to discuss about tensors, tachions and quintessence in the middle of the night.

`I have some news for you. Unluckily, it's not good,` she sighed, `I have heard you had an unexpected quest who is supposed to be our enemy…`

Once an Auror, always an Auror. No wonder Batory`s visit attracted her attention.

`I didn`t want to…` he began.

`It was wise of you to treat her with highest politeness. She would have gotten her grandson back by force, if you had raised your wand against her. But how come the boy arrived at your doorstep?`

`It`s her great-grandson, madam. My neighbour, Mrs Bagshot is his relative,` Dumbledore explained, `She is, as far as I remember, a daughter of a cousin of the great-grandmother of Charlotta Lovelace-Grindelwald. Who, in turn, is another of Gellert`s grandmothers.`

`You mean Lovelace the Arithmancer?` Constantia rubbed her temples, `That explains a lot. But how come the boy arrived at your doorstep without Batory being informed about his trip?`

`Gellert claims he had a dream… That my daughter would need his help. Indeed, she had been badly bullied by a group of Muggle brats.`

`And a mere dream made him travel through all Europe? Isn`t it a bit strange?`

`Seers are eccentric,` he noted.

`Still… You see, Percival, there must have been another dream. Do you keep in touch with your cousin Wulfric?`

`He is the son of my cousin of the second grade, Aurelius. He is the only Dumbledore, apart from me and my sons. We are not close but I know he is a Seer as well.`

`He attempted to kill Ludwiga von Bayern, one of the grandmothers of the Grindelwald boy.`

Percival paled. He had heard about the attack but couldn`t imaging Wulfi…

`And she killed him, right?` he asked.

`I am no fan of her, Percy. But, well, it was a justified self-defence.`

`But why should he?..` Asked Percival after a moment of grim silence, `I bet he did not even know her! He was not a politician.`

`As you know, the magofield can be registered.` explained Constantia, `And we have seen two strong and very similar outbursts lately. One when your cousin broke the Apparition wards to attack madame von Bayern. The other one the day little Grindelwald paid you a visit. Take a look,` She unrolled a huge piece of parchment, `It looks like the same wave, just phase-shifted.`

Percival stooped over the graph.

`But… It resembles the Lovelace-Grindelwald magotime loop graph!` He exclaimed in shock, `Sweet Merlin, had Wulfric leaped back in time to kill her? But why? And why should Gellert?... No.`

`Maybe they were chasing one another through space and time?` wondered Constantia.

`But then… Then Gellert was the target, not von Bayern. But he is just a kid! Wulfi would not hurt a fly!`

`He tried to shoot a witch in her back, Percy. Assuming he wanted to kill her, not the boy.`

`I can`t believe that! Why should he… And why should anyone risk a temporal leap?`

`At such high energies the forces unify,` stated Constantia, `So that you cannot tell whether they travelled through time or whether they have just seen the future. Even the Seers cannot distinguish between the two. It does not matter, after all, whether someone lived in the future and came back or just somehow peeked into it. That future is anyhow gone as the person, having experienced it, will obviously change it.`

`So you think that Gellert came to help my daughter because otherwise something horrible would have happened?`

`Sometimes the child magic get thwarted if the poor little one is bullied. Sometimes even an Obscurus may form.`

`An Obscurus? It`s Muggleborns who may turn into one if their parents try to beat the magic out of them. I don`t think that a single incident could have such disastrous effects,` Percival shook his head in disbelief.

`We cannot ask the Grindelwald boy about the reasons for his actions,` sighed Constantia, `As I assume general Batory would object to that. Anyhow, the inexistent, annihilated future cannot be remembered clearly. This is why prophecies are usually so strange and leave so much room for interpretation. Nonetheless, I am sure that the young Grindelwald is an exceptionally powerful Seer, just like your cousin was. I cannot tell what pushed him towards such a desperate action and whether it was von Bayern or Grindelwald who were his target. Or maybe he wanted to stop someone else by killing one of them… A grandson of Grindelwald, for example. You cannot even exclude that he misinterpreted what he had seen. Be it as it may, we cannot take any offensive steps till we have a solid reason for that. I will not allow that. But what I wanted to say,` her expression turned stern, `Is that the Seers often have a partner. The most famous pair of nowadays is Charlotta Lovelace-Grindelwald and Joyce Freeman.`

`Freeman is just a bandit,` hissed Percival furiously.

`One does not contradict the other,` retorted Constantia sternly, `As if Lovelace-Grindelwald was a little goody two shoes. Dracula captured and tortured her – at least that is what she claims - and Batory saved her skin. Do you believe she did not expect any… proof of gratitude for that? Assuming the whole story is true in the first place; who knows, maybe they had cooperated all the time? They must have met before the times of Dracula as they both had supported Joyce Freeman for some time, during the slave rebellion. The true and alleged crimes do not matter here, Percival. Lovelace-Grindelwald and Freeman are powerful Seers and they need one another not to get mad. A single Seer cannot cope with her visions, as a rule, and ends up as an alcoholic at best. They need someone else who understands them. It could be that your cousin Wulfric and the young Grindelwald could both see the same thing, as if their powers were complementary. That could be, Seers are few and far between and Seeing men are as rare as basilisk-fang daggers. And now there is no one to balance the power of such an exceptional Seer… It can be problematic in the future.`

`I see.`

`It would be then wise to keep an eye on the boy.`

`I understand, madam,` nodded Percival, `I will.`

`There are three branches of Seers in his family tree,` added Constantia, `Which means there are some people in the family who could… contain him, hopefully. Still, one has to be prudent.`

.

.

Percival knew he would not sleep that night anymore but he was too tired and deranged to work. So, he decided to take a look at Gellert`s family tree.

He could not know that would rob him of sleep for a long time.


End file.
